


Inadvertent Misdemeanors

by lilien passe (lilienpasse)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: AU, Breaking and Entering, Eventual Romance, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-08
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-02-03 19:56:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 172,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1755691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilienpasse/pseuds/lilien%20passe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harried med-student Gilbert is awoken one night by a clumsy burglar. He rushes to the defense of his ancient television, only to find that the intruder is less a burglar and more an incredibly lost drunk. Gil/Lutz and others. Thank tumblr for the breaking and entering AU prompt. Please see end of chapter 13 for additional warnings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. ONE

**Author's Note:**

> So there was this writing prompt about breaking and entering and I had to do it.
> 
> I had to.
> 
> I’ll slowly post the chapters whenever I write them. Which will be whenever I’m frustrated with book. Which is becoming more and more frequent.

It was four thirty in the morning when Gilbert heard the first yowl.

He blinked sleep from his eyes as he pushed himself up, staring at his bedroom door as though that would make a difference in his ability to perceive audio.

The yowl came again, louder and more persistent. And pissed off.

Gilbert lay back down with a groan, pressing his already sliced hands against his face.

No more.

No fucking more.

Agreeing to babysit three cats had seemed smart at the time. All they’d needed was their litter box and toys, and presto. Two hundred Euro in the bank. It was a good plan, it was a solid plan.

Except that from the moment the cats first laid eyes on him they marked him as the devil, and they were the righteous angels of the Lord, bent on his destruction. They were so fucking sanctimonious about scratching the hell out of his arms, biting his toes, tripping him and making him fall face first into the Bunsen burner that served as his hot plate.

The first night Gilbert had built a barricade around his room. Cats, as it turned out, were good at jumping over barricades. Who knew.

The second night he’d shut the door like the genius he was (two nights to figure out he should shut the door), but one of the little shits could open doors. As he dimly remembered Eliza cheerfully informing him. She’d phrased it in a way that, at the time, had rang odd to him. 

“You’ll never be alone.”

A good thing, he’d thought. That way they won’t die. He’d be able to keep an eye on them.

The him of forty eight hours ago was a fucking jackass.

Another loud yowl made him sit up again, a harried look on his face. He reluctantly began to tug on his boots and gloves – necessary protection against the Beasts – but then another noise made him freeze.

The very quiet sound

Of a muttered ‘fuck.’

Gilbert remained where he was, his heart in his throat. Right. So he was dealing with a burglar. The cats had obviously marked the man’s tainted soul for extirpation as well, a small grace, but the most they’d be able to do was claw his little eyes out and then he’d be dealing with a blind and angry burglar. 

Gilbert resolved to deal with the situation before blindness came into play. By using…

He scanned his room, his weak eyes trying to focus on objects in the dark. Dirty socks. Too time consuming a weapon, and the thought of them out of the hamper made him twitchy. Heavy medical reference. He’d probably concuss himself with it first before it could be of any use.

His eyes fell on the soccer ball stacked neatly with its fellow sports equipment brethren in his closet. Not the handiest of weapons but he was still a good shot. And it wasn’t as though he had many breakables in the living room.

Or, his brain reminded him, you could just call the fucking cops.

Gilbert smacked himself in the forehead, jumping when he heard another curse from out in the living room. He retreated to his bed, his fingers scrambling around in the sheets searching for his phone.

Or, his brain reminded him, you could just call the fucking cops if you hadn’t left your phone in the bathroom.

With a nervous wheezing noise Gilbert lowered his head to rest against his pillow. Right. RIGHT right. 

Soccer ball it was.

He carefully crept out of bed, the cats’ anxious yowling spurring him on. Soccer ball secured under his arm he held his breath and cautiously pushed open his door. He hadn’t bothered to shut it all the way since opposable thumbs mutant cat could get it open anyway. There weren’t any lights on in the living room, except for the dull glow of the TV he’d forgotten to shut off. Killing mother earth was starting to become one of his passive life goals.

Maybe that’s why the cats were after him.

Gilbert held his breath as he peered around the corner, the soccer ball clutched to his chest. The living room window was wide open, the screen lifted. Useless thing. Why the hell had he shelled out for them. God he was so stupid. So stupid the bathroom was right there if he were a ballerina he could reach out with his toe and grab his stupid phone perched—

Right above the toilet.

Of course.

Too precarious to risk with his shaky nerves.

He glanced into the living room but didn’t see any movement, save for the cats. The three creatures were hovering around the sofa, still yowling horribly. Every once in a while one of the cats would take a swipe at the hapless furniture, and it wasn’t until part of the couch moved that Gilbert realized what was actually going on.

The burglar was taking a nap.

Or trying to, at least, but every time a cat claw connected with part of him he would grunt and swat at the animal before trying to reposition himself in a more defensive way. Gilbert waited until the man – gargantuan if the way his legs were hanging over the edge of the couch were anything to go by – fell still again before creeping forward towards the light switch. He’d throw the lights, bean the guy in the head with the soccer ball, and then dash into the bathroom and grab his cell once the man was dazed.

Clearly the best course of action.

A floorboard creaked underneath his foot and Gilbert froze, staring at the prone form on his sofa. When it didn’t twitch, he cautiously reached out to rest his finger against the light switch. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears, so loudly it was a miracle it wasn’t waking the burglar up.

He counted to three. Twice. Okay three times. Three and a half—

In the middle of two, one of the cats suddenly decided to pounce on the dozing man. Gilbert could practically hear its claws sinking into supple abdominal flesh. The loud yell of pain a moment later confirmed it.

In a rush of stupid adrenaline Gilbert threw the switch, taking advantage of the burglar’s harried state. He cocked his arm back, the soccer ball aimed at the burglar’s – oh, blonde – head. He caught a flash of confused blue eyes before he screamed, “I already had to sell my PlayStation what more do you want?!” and hurled the soccer ball forward.

It connected squarely with the man’s chin. His head made a horrible cracking noise when it hit the wall behind him – or maybe it was the wall giving way – and despite himself Gilbert winced before remembering he had a job to do. He scuttled into the bathroom like a terrified lobster and managed to grab his phone without sending it into the drink. He returned to the living room, triumphant yet terrified, and brandished the device at the dazed intruder.

“I have phone!” 

No. Fuck.

He tried again, shoving aside a cat (gently) when it tried to eat his bare toes.

“I’m going to call the police! Totally what I was going to say the first time! So just stay there and don’t move or you’ll get another –fuck!”

Gilbert yelped in pain as one of the cats sank its claws into his foot, drawing blood. He quickly hopped into the kitchen before he bled all over his carpet, and turned on his phone. Password. What the fuck was his phone password.

He stared blankly at the intruder on his couch as though he could somehow help him remember. The man – tall, blonde, looked to possess an IQ of twelve – was still lying there stunned. His hair was disheveled, and his suit – fucking Armani by the looks of it – was wrinkled to hell and back. The burglar remained motionless, save for his huge fingers that twitched every so often.

He didn’t stay still for long.

With a low groan of pain the intruder sat up, clutching at the back of his head. He blinked slowly, his gaze moving around the room to focus on Gilbert skulking in the kitchen. His eyes widened and Gilbert took a step back, still brandishing phone.

Before he could make another idle threat – oh fuck emergency call was RIGHT THERE he didn’t even need his stupid password – the intruder spoke.

“Who’re you?”

His voice was slurred, either from alcohol or concussion Gilbert wasn’t sure, but his tone was one of genuine confusion. Gilbert bristled.

“Don’t burgle my indignation too! That’s my question! Why the hell are you in my apartment?!”

The man rubbed the back of his head, wincing.

“…When did Kiku get cats…” he mumbled, staring blankly at the three animals rubbing up against his legs.

The blood drained from Gilbert’s face.

Oh no.

The man was hallucinating.

And what was a Kiku.

Gilbert eyed the soccer ball resting underneath the window on the far side of the living room. Maybe he could go in for another hit… disorient the man so the police would have time to get there before he was ritually disemboweled and offered to Kiku. Which was obviously a pagan god of some kind.

“I should be asking you that,” he said accusingly, edging towards the soccer ball. “What the hell kind of burglar breaks into a guy’s house just to scare the shit out of some cats and sit on a sofa?”

“I don’t think these cats have ever been afraid of anything,” the man mumbled, pulling his legs up and sitting princess style on the sofa. Out of necessity, obviously (the cats were staring at his toes like they were tiny sausages). He suddenly tensed and turned to stare at Gilbert, his blonde hair falling in his eyes.

“Wait – burgle?”

He held out his hands, his speech so slurred Gilbert had to concentrate to understand.

“Not burlgerger,” the man babbled weakly, “No. I’m – drunk. God I’m so drunk I’ve never been this drunk before and Kiku – friend. Lives here. So I thought… it’s early. Really morning and I couldn’t find my wallet or phone for cab so just… resting until sober. I knocked – did you not hear me knock? No one answered. I knocked a lot it hurt.”

The man held out his hand, displaying his slightly bruised knuckles.

Gilbert furrowed his brow, recalling a few muffled banging noises he’d heard hours ago. Or minutes. It was hard to tell when he was sleep deprived.

“I don’t know who the hell Kiku is, man, but they don’t live here,” he finally muttered, his eyes still darting between the soccer ball and the not-burglar. Alleged not –burglar. 

The man blinked slowly and then sat back, looking completely stunned.

“Oh,” he whispered.

He sounded so helpless and lost that it made Gilbert pause in his quest for Braining 2: The Return of Skullcrack. He took a cautious step towards the man, pushing aside more blood thirsty cats.

“…Does Kiku have a last name?” he finally prompted. Maybe the guy lived in the complex.

The burglar wrinkled his forehead as though he’d just been asked to solve a differential equation.

“…Honda,” he finally said, sounding proud of himself. “Like the car.”

“Honda like the car,” Gilbert repeated, still keeping his distance from the man as he edged around the room. Recognition suddenly dawned.

“Oh! Oh – fuck. That Honda,” Gilbert groaned, slapping his hand against his forehead. “He’s up a floor. And also out of town – I’m collecting his mail. And that’s more information than you need to know.”

The man on the couch perked up at that.

“Collecting mail? So – key?” he asked hopefully.

Gilbert winced. The guy was built like an American football player – the ones that had to run really fast and shove guys aside like they were made of straw. Really didn’t mesh well with stupid drunk.

“I’ve got the key to his mailbox, yeah,” Gilbert finally supplied, reaching the soccer ball. He bent down to pick it up. “But not his house key.”

The not-burglar visibly wilted, letting out a disheartened ‘ow’ when one of the cats sank its claws into his knee as it scrambled up on the couch. He let out a little breath and then slowly pushed himself to his feet. Gilbert watched with a wary expression on his face as the man wobbled a bit and then steadied himself.

The man sucked in a bit of air, his eyes fixed on a spot five centimeters to Gilbert’s left.

“I’m very drunk,” he said solemnly, his deep voice making the inane statement actually feel like it had some weight. He paused. “… Sorry. I meant – very sorry. To have burgled. Accidentally.”

He swayed dangerously, his eyes going unfocused again. With a sudden burst of impulse Gilbert reached out to grab the man’s arm before he fell. Which did absolutely no good because the man was fucking King Kong sized.

He fell backwards, cracking his head again against the wall.

“Shit – god, fuck, dude I’m sorry,” Gilbert babbled, suddenly panicked when the man’s eyes opened again but were so far from focusing on anything in this realm he may as well have been looking at Pluto.

“’s okay,” the man slurred. “Didn’t – barely felt it.”

Gilbert bit his lip, watching the man stare at the ceiling as though it were the single most fascinating object in the universe, before he made another impulse decision. Since those had been going really well.

“Don’t move,” he ordered, pushing aside another cat. “I mean it.”

The man slowly nodded, and then said weakly, “That was dumb. Don’t let me nod again, please. Mister.”

“Gilbert,” he automatically supplied. What the fuck ever. The guy wouldn’t be able to remember the next morning anyway.

He quickly made his way into his room, finding a flashlight in his ‘useful tools’ drawer before returning to the drunk’s side. He shined the light in his eyes, relieved when the pupils dilated properly. Not a concussion, then. And the man was breathing normally and – Gilbert pressed his fingers against his wrist – pulse was a little erratic but nothing to write home about.

So no alcohol poisoning.

Just really, really drunk.

Gilbert tried to swat aside his conscience with his strongest asset, rationale, who pointed out that having a stranger spend the night in his apartment was five shades of idiotic. But conscience rightly argued that if he kicked the man out of his apartment and the man got run over by a car or attacked by crows or ended up drowned in a gutter he’d have broken his oath before he even made it.

Gilbert ran a hand over his face, cursing himself softly.

Well that settled it.

He stood up, ignoring the confused, helpless look the drunkard gave him.

“Do I have to go?” the man asked slowly, obviously having to concentrate on every word. “I will. Go. I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to kill your cats. Or. No. Sleep on couch.”

“Just shut up. Please,” Gilbert said wearily. He went to the kitchen to fetch water and aspirin, returning to the sofa and offering both to the man. When all he received in return was a blank stare, he let out a frustrated noise.

“Swallow these. Don’t choke. Drink this.”

He pressed the items into the man’s hands. The intruder stared blankly at them for a moment and then followed instructions. Thank God.

Gilbert sat down on the coffee table, watching the other man warily.

“So do you have a name to go with the alcohol?” he finally asked, grabbing the bucket that he normally kept his controllers in (but was now sadly empty) and resting it next to the couch.

The man finished the water, licking a few drops off his lips. He gave Gilbert a very crooked smile.

“Ludwig.”

Gilbert winced. The guy didn’t look seventy, but what asshole parent would name their kid Ludwig.

“Okay, Ludwig, here’s what we’re going to do,” he said. The man had responded positively to straight directions. Small favor. “You’re going to lie down and sleep this off. There is a bucket next to your head. If you need to puke, you will puke in the bucket. The bathroom is there –” he pointed over his shoulder “—and if you need to urinate you will do so in there. Preferably in the toilet.”

A slightly cross look took a hold of the man’s expression and he mumbled, “I’m not going to pee on the floor like a barbar. Bar. Barian.”

“So far you’re not inspiring confidence,” Gilbert muttered, tugging a blanket off the back of the sofa and tossing it at the guy. “I have to be at the hospital in three hours. I won’t kick you out then but I will ask my neighbors to keep an eye on the place.”

It would be hard to miss a gigantic blonde walking out with a fifteen-year-old hundred pound television, which honestly was the only thing of worth in the entire place.

The man – Ludwig, Gilbert reminded himself – lay down, tugging the blanket over his head. A muffled ‘okay’ drifted up from underneath the covers. Silence followed.

The cats batted at the lump and then decided that they had to sleep on it. All three arranged themselves on top of Ludwig’s still form. Gilbert watched them warily for a moment, but when no more attacks came his way and Ludwig’s breathing had evened out, he reluctantly left the room, shutting off the lights as he did so. He got back into bed, staring blankly up at the ceiling.

With a low groan he rolled over, pressing his face into the pillow.

An American football player was passed out on his sofa. Until he was corrected Gilbert was going to assume that’s what the man did for a living. Explained the suit, the build, and the drunkenness. 

Gilbert forced his eyes closed, tugging his panda against his chest.

No one was going to believe him tomorrow.


	2. TWO

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two, y’all!
> 
> OH NO THERE’S PLOT maybe?! What’s gonna happennnnn I don’t knoooooow
> 
> No seriously I have no idea I’m writing this by the seat of my pants. 
> 
> I’m sorry.

When four A.M. rolled around, Gilbert was a bleary-eyed mess. He’d spent the last few hours listening to his surprise roommate hork his guts out every time he drifted into consciousness. Needless to say it didn’t make for a very restful sleep. When he finally staggered out of his bedroom he couldn’t help but feel resentful as he emptied the stranger’s stomach contents into his toilet and rinsed the bucket. The man was out cold, finally, and after one last quick check to make sure he hadn’t slipped into a coma, Gilbert tugged on his scrubs, splashed some water on his face, and was out the door. He stopped by his neighbor’s – thankfully Sadiq next door worked nights – and asked him to keep an eye on the place, saying he had a shady relative staying with him. Sadiq (good man, attractive man) agreed, for the price of a few beers. With that, Gilbert fled the building, running to catch his train.

The hospital was blessedly busy when Gilbert arrived. No horrible car crashes or burn victims to deal with, just the usual string of children who had injured themselves in various ways ranging from infected paper cuts to broken legs. Gilbert picked up his assignments from the front desk and began his rounds.

There were benefits to working in a children’s hospital. Your patients tended to not question your methods, first of all. They were generally cuter. Treatments worked faster.

Gilbert’s already pale face drained of color.

And then there were the downsides.

Gilbert fiddled nervously with his glasses, his heart in his throat. Okay, so, surgeries on tiny children were a new field for him, but he had to get over himself. One dead tiny person didn’t mean everyone on his table was going to die. And this was just a tonsillectomy. Child’s play.

Oh god he could feel the hysterical laughter building. Over a bad pun. This was shit, he was shit, he was going to murder that little kid, probably remove their vocal chords instead or trip and fall and send the scalpel into their eyeball—

Whoa wait. No. No scalpelballs.

Gilbert glanced at his watch and then quickly finished his check-ups, the normal routine calming him. Distracting him from the thought of speared ocular nerves. His patients all tended to love him. They thought his weird hair and eyes were neat, they liked his colorful glasses, they liked the toys he gave them (goodbye, PlayStation). There were some that thought he was the devil, but that wasn’t really their fault. Parents didn’t usually like him. They thought he was too young, too relaxed (if only they knew), too cavalier with their children’s health. Too albino. Which was always a fun one. Sometimes those attitudes rubbed off on children, because parents were little shits and couldn’t be trusted. Adults in general were horrible, backstabbing monsters. Gilbert wanted as little to do with them as possible.

He checked his watch again and then said goodbye to tiny Alyssa. Hip replacement surgery. Her fracture just wouldn’t heal right, it was incredibly frustrating. She gave him a smile, thanked him for the book, and he left. The check-ups had been enough to distract him from how exhausted he was, and how anxious that there was a fucking stranger in his apartment doing God knew what. He was grateful he’d only just moved and most of his stuff was still in storage. Even if the guy woke up and went rummaging around all he’d find were some dry textbooks. Nothing of import.

He’d better not fucking touch his DS, though. It was his one electronic he’d yet to guilt himself into parting with.

Prep was blessedly familiar. He’d worked as an assistant for years before going back to school to refine his degree. Washing up, disinfecting, different scrubs… they were all things he was familiar with.

The feel of a scalpel in his hand was not one of them.

He blinked sweat out of his eyes, staring at the little yellowed spots inside the kid’s throat. The nurse next to him shifted and then lightly blotted his forehead.

“Doctor. Are you all right?”

“No,” Gilbert mumbled, giving the nurse a harried look. “Bel, I’m not all right.”

She sighed, but her green eyes were sympathetic.

“Need me to take over again? I won’t tell.”

“No.”

He could tell she was pursing her lips behind her mask.

“We can’t wait until Doctor Héderváry returns. You can’t afford another—”

“Look, I know I can’t keep foisting my patients off on Eliza, you don’t need to remind me,” Gilbert muttered, leaning over the patient. Two slices. He was a good surgeon, he could do it in two.

He heard Bel sigh, but then her foot lightly tapped against his.

“You’ll be fine, Gilbert. Just don’t let the parents know you almost had a heart attack over a tonsillectomy.”

Gilbert nodded, his vision finally tunneling as he forgot his nerves, his training taking over. His hand grew steady, the feel of the metal in his hand fading away. 

Two slices.

After the kid was wheeled into light post-op, Gilbert allowed himself to freak out. He tugged off his gloves and threw them into the bin, staring at his shaking hands. He heard Bel move next to him and heard her whistle lowly.

“Jesus, Gil. It’s a miracle you didn’t nick anything.”

“Call the Pope, ask him to get my appointment to sainthood ready. I have two more this afternoon that will also end up being miracles. Boom. Required three right there,” Gilbert muttered, flashing Bel a weak smile. She patted his shoulder as she passed.

“Just think about getting to go home. It’s what sustains me.”

“I’ve got a not-burglar waiting for me at home. Not exactly eager to return to clean that mess up,” Gilbert said with a weak groan. “Fuck I forgot about him while I was in there. For two seconds I wasn’t freaking out about him possibly stealing all my boxers or eating my frozen pizzas. I got them on sale, I’ll never find a bargain like that again…”

“You’ve got a– what the hell’s a notburglar?” Bel asked, bemused.

Gilbert waved his hand dismissively, his stomach still in knots from earlier. Didn’t need the extra stressors of picturing some stranger in his house.

“He’s a guy who breaks into your house at night just to sleep on the couch. He got the address wrong. I let him stay because again, sainthood. Imminent sainthood.”

“Imminent murder victim is more like it. How are you so stupid and still alive?” Bel asked in wonder. “So there’s a guy just… sleeping on your couch?”

“There is indeed a single man on my couch. Who I did not have sex with, before you ask even though yes he is conventionally attractive and was dressed well enough that implied either big money or that he sucks big money dicks for a living,” Gilbert said quickly, interrupting whatever Bel was going to say next (which her expression hinted would be something along those lines). She shook her head and rubbed the back of her neck. “Well good for you, I guess. Congrats on the lack of sex. Although I’m starting to understand why Edelstein has called you a blockhead on more than one occasion.”

“Roderich calls me a blockhead because his AI chip prevents his interface from using adult cursewords,” Gilbert drawled, a disgusted look on his face. Bel peered up at him, obviously curious, before her lips pulled up in a wicked grin.

“Oh dear. Still a bit of lingering resentment?”

Gilbert clicked his tongue even as he gratefully latched onto the new topic of conversation. Roderich was a familiar hatred. Enough to help him deal with his unfamiliar anxiety about the notburglar.

“He’s an administrator. Eliza can do better and that’s all I’m saying.”

“It’s not as if they’re married,” Bel pointed out. “Thankfully. Because I predict in a few months the whole thing will implode and one of us might get a chance. To use really creepy and stalkerish language but you know what I mean. It’s not like she outright rejected you. There’s no restraining order yet, anyway.”

“Ugh,” Gilbert groaned, pressing a hand against his face and mussing up his glasses. “Ugh. Ugh ugh why did it have to be him he has a goddamn mole on his face like he’s a fancy lady from the turn of the century.”

“Fancy lady,” Bel repeated, obviously amused. She glanced at her watch and gasped. “Gil – er, Doctor, your next procedure is in ten minutes.” She gave him an apologetic look. “Gossip time will have to wait for the next gripe fest. My brother’s in town – he said he’s looking forward to hustling your ass again in pool if you’re up for it.”

“Hustling – unicorn boy’s brain is so soaked in hair gel it’s given him memory problems,” Gilbert muttered, heading towards the next surgery bay. He heard Bel laugh but missed whatever else she said as concentration thankfully took over again. 

Two more.

Two more and then he’d get to quell at least a bit of the anxiety in his chest.

Notburglar better not have eaten his pizzas, though.

It was dark outside again by the time Gilbert was ready to go home. He stared mournfully up at the cloud-covered sky. He missed the sun. When he could finally work normal hours again he was going to eat lunch outside, at least. And burn himself and end up cursing nature and peeing on whatever insect was handy to extract his revenge, probably, but for the three pre-burn seconds it would be worth it.

His train creaked into the station and he stumbled off. His steps slowed as he approached his apartment building, and by the time he slotted the key into its home he was moving at a snail’s pace.

His door was still intact, at least. Good sign. 

He pressed an ear against the door, but other than the faint sound of the television – probably the news judging from the steady drone of voices – there was nothing.

He let out a little breath and carefully turned the key in the lock, pushing open the door. He had to immediately shove his foot against the opening to keep one of the cats from escaping. It decided to bite him in thanks for the rescue.

“Little fucker,” Gilbert swore, his eyes tearing up with pain as he staggered inside. The beast’s teeth were still latched onto what had to be a tendon, and he had to slam the door shut to keep another one from escaping, all while balancing on his lone un-mauled foot. 

The cat’s antics were enough for him to forget the true source of his anxiety for a few blissful seconds. But then a quiet clearing of the throat made him glance up, eyes wild, as he tried to focus on the source of the noise.

The notburglar was sitting on the edge of his couch, looking miserable, hungover, and extremely uncomfortable. His blonde hair was falling into his eyes, and every few seconds his meaty hands would swipe through it, trying to push it back. An exercise in futility.

He cleared his throat again and gave a very small nod in Gilbert’s direction, which made him wince.

“Hello.”

His voice was just as deep as Gilbert remembered. And sounded a hell of a lot better than the slurry mess it had been.

Gilbert raised a hand in reply, too busy unlatching claws from his skin to bother with proper verbalization for the moment. Once de-catted he stood up straight, staring warily at the notburglar. Ludwig. He’d almost forgotten the man came with a name in addition to the wrinkled designer suit.

“Hey.” He peered into the bucket. “Oh, you stopped puking. Good for you.”

The man’s face turned an ugly red and he cleared his throat again. He wiggled around on the couch as though his ass were glued to the cushions, obviously too insecure to stand.

“Yes. About an hour ago the, uh… expelling ceased,” he muttered, resting his hands on his knees. He worried at his lip, and Gilbert took note of a few other shallow cuts. Obviously a habit.

The notburglar suddenly glanced up at him, blue eyes sickeningly earnest.

“I’m so, so sorry,” he said quickly, as though the words themselves were vomit buddies leftover from the night before. “It took me a couple hours to piece together – I don’t really remember. Anything. If I have to be honest. Something about soccer or eating housepets but I have no idea where I am and – and there’s a large, angry Turkish man outside who kept banging on the walls and barking at me to stay put or he’d call the cops and I didn’t have a key so I didn’t want to leave your apartment unlocked –”

He cleared his throat yet again, his ears pink. 

Gilbert felt his stomach start to churn with something other than anxiety. Behemoths shouldn’t be allowed to have habits like lip biting or ear pinkening. 

The notburglar averted his eyes.

“You’re going to think me a complete lush for asking,” he mumbled. “But… where. Am I. Exactly. And who are you. And—” His cheeks joined in the rose parade. “And did I – I spent the entire night on this couch. …Right?”

Gilbert managed to bite back a snort of nervous laughter. Okay so the man hadn’t actually burgled him. All three cats were still alive (the third one had made an appearance on his exposed Achilles during the notburglar’s speech). His apartment wasn’t covered in puke and Sadiq had done his job guarding the place.

Thank. God.

Gilbert moved to retrieve the bucket, amused when the man on the couch shied away from him.

“After the five hour sodomy session, yeah, you were pretty keen on the couch,” he drawled, putting the bucket back where it belonged. The man behind him inhaled sharply, but before he could properly freak out Gilbert held up his hands, plastering a disarming smile on his face.

“Kidding. Kidding – sorry, I forgot you don’t know me from Adam yet.”

A look of murder momentarily took hold of the couch blonde, intense enough to make Gilbert’s nervousness return and a wild through cross his mind that he didn’t exactly know what the guy did for a living yet and that mobsters also tended to wear really nice suits. The malice thankfully passed quickly, and the man just nodded his head.

“That’s a blessing at least,” he muttered, fiddling with his suit coat lying next to him on the sofa. Blue eyes darted up, calculating as they fixed on Gilbert’s face, and then a little smile twisted at the man’s thin lips.

“Five hours though, really? That’s giving your backside a lot of credit.”

Gilbert let out a bark of surprised laughter, loud enough to make the cats dart around the living room to hide behind the sofa. God. Man had a sense of humor in addition to the looks. There was unfairness in the world and it was sitting on his couch. 

The man, however, winced at the loud noise and clutched at his head. Gilbert immediately hissed in sympathy and went to get a glass of water, setting it down on the coffee table. The man took it with a mumbled thanks, sipping at it.

“I haven’t had a hangover this badly before,” he mumbled, closing his eyes . “And again I really… really am sorry. What happened, exactly?”

“To answer your previous questions with responses that aren’t based on the list of ten worst things ever to say to strangers, I’m Gilbert, as I told you last night, and this is my apartment.” Gilbert took a seat on the floor on the other side of the coffee table and jerked his thumb towards the ceiling. “You thought you were breaking into your friend Honda’s place. I’m his neighbor, and saint aspirant. I let you sleep on my couch.”

Ludwig’s eyes opened, peering over the rim of the glass.

“And you’re a doctor?”

“Correct,” Gilbert said as cheerfully as he could. “And you’ll note the relative absence of blood on my scrubs. Means I’m a good doctor.”

“Or just a good launderer,” Ludwig quietly countered, making Gilbert laugh again. One of the cats opened its shitty little mouth to take a bite out of Ludwig’s foot, but Gilbert quickly darted in, grabbing the animal and tugging it away, ignoring its yowls of protest. Ludwig shot him a grateful look. “Thanks. They’ve been slowly chipping away at my flesh all day. I was starting to feel like Prometheus.”

Handsome, funny, and apparently educated in the classics. 

Shit.

Gilbert quickly stood up to get himself something to drink, trying to will his cheeks to return to their normal lack of color. Just because the guy hadn’t robbed him or turned out to be a crazed rapist did not mean he was fair game for anything. And while Gilbert was proud to have a foot planted firmly in any and all gender camps, his experience with all but the uterinely inclined was a bit… lacking. Which in and of itself was throwing him for a loop. He wasn’t used to feeling liked he’d been hit by a cement truck at the sight of a Star Wars era Harrison Ford smile. 

He was probably just tired.

“It’s no problem. They’re not mine, by the way,” he added hastily as he grabbed himself a beer. “I’m cat sitting for a friend while she’s out of the country with her insufferable boyfriend.”

Ludwig raised a pale eyebrow, but all he said was a neutral, “Good to know. Even a few seconds of pretending to tolerate them was starting to be too much. I’m more of a dog person, and – shit.” He rubbed a hand over his face and glanced towards Gilbert. “Did I introduce myself last night?”

“Name of Ludwig. That’s about all I got,” Gilbert said politely. “You don’t have to, though, I mean – I’m not going to file a police report or anything. You’re good.”

“Still, I’d feel more comfortable if you at least knew the name of the man who spent the night on your couch. Call me old fashioned.”

Ludwig pushed himself to his feet and walked into the kitchen, fishing around in his pocket for a moment. He held out a business card, a small smile on his face.

“Ludwig Schmidt. Information’s all there, if you care to read it. I’ll wait.”

Gilbert gave the man an odd look – one point negative for being kind of weird – but then read the card. It was nice paper, very thick. Professional looking lettering, and a familiar seal in the upper right corner.

His eyes immediately flew open and he stared up in shock at the blonde.

“Ambassador?!”

“Assistant to the,” Ludwig quietly corrected, a tired smile on his face. “Although thank you, your reaction will be my ego boost for the day. I’m a bit lacking in the area considering I spent the night in a state even a sorority freshman would be ashamed of.”

“I’m pretty sure anyone with intestines would feel ashamed,” Gilbert remarked absently, turning the card over in his hands. He glanced up at the man, smiling nervously.

“So can I hold you for ransom now that I know you’re worth something or is that considered a faux pas?”

Ludwig laughed again, but then clutched at his head and muttered, “Fucking idiot stop doing that.”

Gilbert automatically fetched the bottle of aspirin from above the sink and held out a few pills towards the man.

“Doctor says take these,” he ordered. “And before you ask yes I do enjoy exploiting my title, thanks for noticing.”

Ludwig took the pills, swallowing them dry before croaking, “And you’re an actual doctor, right?”

“Internet certified as of six hours ago,” Gilbert said, pouring the man a glass of water. “And don’t do that. Bad for your stomach.”

Ludwig obediently downed the water and set the glass on the counter.

“Duly noted,” he said, heading back to the couch. He picked up his suit coat and shrugged it on. After a moment Gilbert followed him, curiosity making him ask, “So how exactly did you end up that drunk last night? A man your size and build – it would take a full shelf to bring you down, I’d think.”

“Probably was a full shelf,” Ludwig sighed, running his large fingers through his hair again, a pensive frown on his face that made him look like Marlon Brando. Pre Godfather.

Gilbert swallowed heavily, his brain crying a helpless litany of ‘fuck.’ Imperative and lament.

“O-Oh?”

Ludwig nodded, oblivious to Gilbert’s mild distress.

“We received a grant we’d been pushing for – my whole team was ecstatic. And it was my project and I always forget that ‘only one more’ in this country means ‘give me the entire bottle I am still clearly capable of making rational decisions.’”

Gilbert laughed at that, the other man’s disgruntled tone (and a few dredged-up memories of him vomiting the night before) dispelling the weird churning in his gut. Hard to feel all tingly when thinking about projectile stomach acids.

“Well, kudos, no matter the cause. I’ve never seen anyone that far gone who didn’t succumb to alcohol poisoning. Which don’t worry, I checked.” He tapped his glasses. “Doctor.”

“So you said,” Ludwig snorted, raising an eyebrow. He hesitated, and for a moment almost looked nervous. He cleared his throat. Another bad habit, probably.

“Is… is there a last name that goes with that title?” he asked, his voice full of affected politeness and poorly-masked interest. 

Gilbert stared at the other man, trying not to read too much into the question or the tone. He finally got his shit together enough to stammer out, “Weillschmidt. Don’t – don’t ask. It’s a fucking weird name. Pretty sure someone misspelled it on my birth certificate.”

Ludwig furrowed his brow at the ‘someone,’ but then nodded slowly.

“And you work at?”

“Saint Maria’s. Children’s hospital.”

“I see.”

Ludwig straightened his crooked tie and gave Gilbert a polite nod.

“Well, Doctor Weillschmidt. Thank you very much for tending to me. I owe you my dignity, at least.” He hesitated for long enough to make Gilbert edgy, and then said in a much more unsure tone, “If it’s not too much trouble, would you – I’d like to thank you, somehow. Not—God that sounded a lot less sexual in my head.”

Gilbert burst out laughing again, the man’s embarrassed posture clashing horribly with his posh suit.

“You don’t owe me, it’s fine,” he said once his laughter had subsided. “Just doing my job.”

“Your job would have been to call the police and let me sleep it off in a cell,” Ludwig politely reminded him, although he seemed more relaxed after the laughter. “Please. Just dinner or something. I know you doctors are busy, but my schedule is relatively free. You have my number so if you have a bit of time… it would go a long way towards easing my guilty conscience.”

Gilbert automatically fiddled with the card still clutched in his fingers, his cheeks slowly coloring again. Dinner. Okay. Dinner was food. Obviously. A thing. Nothing necessarily other than an obligation or a thank you.

But the guy could have left right away.

Gilbert finally just nodded, not really wanting to give a firm answer right away.

“Sure – dinner. I could maybe swing that,” he said with a forced air of casualness. “Like you said, busy. Lots of sick children, posing for the media, signing novelty-sized charity checks…”

Ludwig for his part looked relived, and he nodded slightly.

“Thank you. I really do mean that. I look forward to hearing from you.”

He made his way to the door, but paused with his hand on the knob. He glanced over his shoulder, a nervous spark in his eye.

“That… that man in the hallway. Is, er… is he…”

“Sadiq’s at work now, buddy. You’re safe,” Gilbert said soothingly, trying not to laugh as the man let out a huge sigh of relief and weakly groaned ‘thank god.’ “Sorry for siccing him on you, by the way,” Gilbert continued. “I was sure you were after my CRT television.”

“Yes, you’re on to me,” Ludwig said dryly, a small smile on his face. “I steal obsolete and antiquated technology to sell back to sitcom sets that take place in the 90s for a nominal fee.”

“I have a dot matrix printer collecting dust in the back of my closet and enough floppies to build a fort out of if you’re interested. For next time,” Gilbert said as lightly as he could, feeling a rush of nervous energy when Ludwig laughed again, the noise much more genuine.

“For next time,” the blonde agreed, opening the door. He gently pushed a cat back inside with his foot, waving as he did so.

The door shut behind him.

Gilbert made his way to the front windows, watching Ludwig leave the building, feeling like a complete stalker as he did. He pressed his forehead against the glass, his glasses in turn pushing painfully against the bridge of his nose. 

Ludwig walked towards the train station, his long legs moving at a surprisingly leisurely gait. He crossed the street and entered the station, disappearing from view.

Gilbert remained transfixed for a moment longer before slowly sliding down the glass, his chin bumping against the windowsill. A cat gnawed on one of his toenails but he ignored it, staring morosely out the window. That had been his best interaction with a human being outside of a hospital. The lady at his grocery had started ignoring his attempts of friendly chitchat, and he was fairly sure the building’s super was going to have him committed. Sadiq was nice, but gone most of the time. Honda he barely knew. The rest of the building’s residents he recognized by face only. His adoptive parents hardly ever called, his one ex-girlfriend was hell bent on never speaking to him again.

And it had taken a drunken man on his sofa to make him realize how lonely he was.

He winced as a cat bit into his calf, and he shook the beast off.

Not lonely enough to gather a hoard of these monsters, thank God. He’d off himself before sinking that far.

He remained staring out the window, moving only when his stomach let out a loud growl. Reluctantly he pushed himself to his feet and started making dinner, which involved the arduous task of preheating the oven for pizza. As he watched the numbers slowly rise on the display, an absent smile crossed his face, the card still held in his fingers.

He wondered how frequently ambassador’s assistants got grants approved.

Hopefully often.


	3. THREE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More characters and more interaction! And I still don’t know what I’m doing, really! But I’m enjoying writing something that’s so casual and fun. I hope you guys are enjoying reading it!

Gilbert sat hunkered behind his desk, turning over the business card in his fingers. A week’s worth of nervous fidgeting had smoothed the corners and made the embossed lettering on the front sink flush with the surface. He’d stared at the numbers so much he had them memorized. Which for some reason never translated to his fingers actually moving on his phone. There had been several aborted attempts, all cumulating in little nervous twitches that made him doubt his virility.

“I’ve half a mind to buy you a little frame for that thing. You’ll probably wear it into oblivion by next week otherwise.”

Gilbert slowly lifted his head to glare at Elizaveta, perched in the doorway. Her volumes of curls were pinned up catty-wompus, making her look extra crazed. She wiggled her fingers at him, teeth bared in a sporting grin.

“I’m back.”

“Good. Get your fucking cats out of my apartment,” Gilbert said dully, propping his chin back up on his desk.

“Get your fucking cats out of my apartment, please,” Eliza corrected, strolling into his office and plopping down in one of the chairs. “And nice to see you too.” She raised an eyebrow and lightly poked the card with one chewed-up nail.

“Bel told me all about your intruder. In the spirit of female friendship, I can’t disclose the exact nature of our bet, but let’s just say there’s money riding on certain intricacies of this little date.”

“It’s not a date,” Gilbert said automatically, sitting up. “Life is not your queerbait Sherlock fanfiction.”

“My award-winning queerbait Sherlock fanfiction, if you please,” Eliza drawled, examining her nails and ripping off another hangnail. “And this is where you’re supposed to say ‘welcome back’ and greedily ask what sorts of souvenirs I bought you. Don’t break character.”

Gilbert tucked the little business card away in his back pocket and obligingly held out his hand.

“Welcome back. I deserve a trophy for taking care of your hell monsters, but I’ll settle for whatever trinket you picked up last second for me,” he obediently droned.

Eliza smiled and patted his wrist before plopping a greasy package of chocolates in his open palm.

“They’re half gone,” she warned. “And melted. We got stuck in traffic and I got hungry. And you’re allergic to macadamias so you probably should only eat three or so unless you feel like playing poster child for anaphylactic shock.”

Gilbert gingerly opened the bag, peering inside at the sad looking confections.

“I’m allergic to practically everything to some degree. It won’t kill me,” he muttered, fishing out a chocolate and popping it in his mouth. As he chewed the sub-par candy, he studied Eliza’s expression. She looked worn out; lines around her eyes, Hermione Granger hair, infuriating grinding of her teeth. Being the jackass that he was, all of these things spelled good news for Gilbert.

He propped his elbows on his desk and leaned forward, smiling.

“So. How did it go?”

Eliza pursed her lips. Another hangnail was viciously rent asunder.

“Roderich does not travel well. He’s like an exotic fruit.”

Gilbert filed away the description for later insult usage. 

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said neutrally. “Our dear director comes from hearty enough stock. I can’t imagine—”

“Aha, no.”

Eliza shoved her hand against Gilbert’s mouth, her green eyes flashing with barely-fettered hostility. 

“We’re not going to go down that road,” she said sweetly. “Because you’re a jealous little bastard and Roderich is a perfectly nice person, despite his bruiseability. Which you are not.”

Gilbert wiggled free of her grip and sat back in his chair, his lips twisted into a pout.

“I’m a nice person,” he muttered. “I let someone sleep on my couch.”

“You let a terrifyingly large, yet handsome, drunk sleep on your couch,” Eliza corrected, her eyes narrowing .”This does not automatically negate all the stupid shit you’ve done recently.”

“What stupid shit?” Gilbert challenged. “As I recall it was me who volunteered to leave the apartment. Which was a good decision. The best.”

“I made you volunteer because I’m spineless,” Eliza muttered. Gilbert could practically hear the self-flagellation. “I should have pulled the trigger a long time ago when you started obsessing. And you know the stupid shit I’m referring to is more of the obsessive, needy kind, less the U-Haul kind.”

Gilbert flinched at her words, the fun memories of surrendering his living space to a slimy invader still too fresh to really joke about. He fell silent, staring at the intricate patterns in his wooden desk. 

Living with Eliza had been a mistake to begin with, if he had to be honest with himself. They’d met in med school, had hit it off. Really, really well. But as she constantly enjoyed reminding him, a few drunken rounds of (in her words) some of the worst sex she’d ever had did not make them exclusive. It didn’t make them anything. No matter how much sense it made to him, no matter how much their mutual friends treated them like a couple, Eliza had chiseled a line in their relationship and steadfastly refused to cross it. Gilbert admired her for it. Her tenacity. Convictions.

Still fucking sucked.

The day Eliza had first spoken about Roderich with something other than loathing or irritation in her voice had sounded the first nail in the coffin. It was just a comment about his fucking sandwich. Something about how egg salad should be outlawed from the break room if you were going to eat it five days in a row. She’d said it absently, her eyes trained out the window, her full bottom lip pursed in contemplation of the director’s lunch choices.

Gilbert wasn’t gifted with deep emotional wisdom, but even he knew that keeping track of someone’s sandwich type meant they were paying attention. And with Elizaveta, her attention bought you either respect or detestation. Gilbert had dully hoped for detestation, but during the next staff meeting, she’d averted her eyes when the director addressed her directly, and he knew his guess had been wrong.

A week later he’d moved out. She called him pathetic and childish and he yelled back the opposite while silently agreeing with her. He could be friends with Eliza. He loved being friends with Eliza because he didn’t fall head over heels for people who sucked and were terrible friends. And the number of people he felt comfortable calling friend could be counted on one hand. He clung to those few raised fingers with a repulsive possessiveness, because he was a bitter, ugly person, burdened with the gift of heightened self-awareness. 

So moving out it was. It was either that or intensive therapy. Moving was cheaper.

The pity party had lasted approximately forty eight hours. Then he’d realized he could microwave popcorn naked and any regrets had been thrown out the window. Even just a few weeks of distance had brought a refreshing clarity to his fixation on Eliza. There was still the occasional jealous pang, but it had less to do with romance and more to do with the fact that Roderich was a fucking egotistical prick who he would rather see buried to death under a pile of flatulent gerbils than just about any other sight in the world. And the feeling was apparently entirely mutual. Roderich’s little judgmental sniffs were difficult to interpret any other way.

Eliza could do better. She was wasting the best years of her life saddled to an out of touch aristocratic posture. And that was what was fueling his ire, not some half-shanked-to-death emotional clinginess.

It was more like seventy-thirty. Still.

Gilbert fished the business card out of his pocket again, peering over his glasses at the words. A little flick to his forehead made him look up, and he balked as green eyes stared fixedly at him.

“Call him,” Eliza demanded. “For fuck’s sake, Gilbert, this is why you have no friends. You’re spineless.”

“Really feeling the love in this room right now,” Gilbert muttered, the words hurting more than he wanted them too. “And going out to dinner with someone as a formal thank you for not turning them into the police isn’t friendship, either.”

“Oh my god you’re so pathetic,” Eliza groaned, rolling her eyes. “If it really means nothing then just call the guy. I’ve been around you for less than five minutes and you’re already driving me insane with your indecisive moping. It’s Lian all over again. I’m amazed your nursing staff hasn’t shoved one of their piping-hot lean cuisines in your face just to give it a bit of variety.” 

It was the juvenile posturing that made Gilbert finally snap. Eliza could be really goddamn annoying. Self-righteous. Cocksure. Pugnacious.

Fuck, maybe she and Roderich did deserve each other. Their thesaurus entries were incredibly complimentary.

“And that’s my threshold for today,” he said cheerfully, shoving Elizaveta’s chair away with his foot, sending her rolling back a few feet. “I’ve got surgery in fifteen anyway.”

Eliza remained in her chair until it came to a stop, and then she stood up, a mean, calculating look on her face. She opened her mouth to speak, but snapped it shut and simply muttered a terse, “Glad to see we’re back in the bellicosity saddle.”

“It’s what makes the world turn, Héderváry. All the tropical weather and exotic fruit must have scrambled your brains and made you forget,” Gilbert said, standing up as well as he pocketed the card.

Eliza rolled her eyes again and headed for the door, muttering under her breath, “You were nicer when you thought you were in love with me.”

Gilbert felt his stomach roll unpleasantly and he stared at Eliza’s retreating back. God damn she was mean. Or he was just overly sensitive. 

He shoved another chocolate in his mouth and opted for the former. 

“Greatest delusionary joke of my life,” he muttered around the chocolate, slamming his desk drawer shut with a bit more force than necessary. “Get the fuck out, Eliza. Thanks for the chocolates.”

She waved as she turned the corner and left, calling out over her shoulder, “Just call him and get it over with! It’ll help with the PMS.”

Gilbert managed to put a lid on his temper before he did something stupid. Like throw the nearest object against the wall and—

Okay fuck. Damn his heightened reflexes and impetuous nature.

He stared morosely at the tiny dent in his wall and then moved to collect the pens and pencils and the now-dented pencil cup. Poor thing hadn’t stood a chance. 

The last pen slid back into its home with a pleasant clanging noise just as another knock sounded on his door. He lifted his head to see Bel standing there, her clipboard resting against her hip.

“So Eliza’s in rare form today,” she said without preamble. “Did you piss her off or is she in stress mode?”

“Stress mode. I think,” Gilbert muttered, pushing himself to her feet. “Forgot how mean she is when she’s sleep deprived.”

Bel hummed a non-committal ‘mm’ and flipped over a few pages on her board. “You reviewed the file again, I hope?”

“Reviewed,” Gilbert said wearily, grabbing his ID badge and clipping it back onto his scrubs. “Thanks for the reminder.”

“It’s my job,” Bel said neutrally, raising an eyebrow at him. She whistled lowly, peering into his eyes. “Shit. She really did a number on you, didn’t she? Still know how to play the unrequited love card?”

“Why does everyone keep using that word. I don’t think you really know what it means,” he muttered, pushing his way past his nurse and out into the hallway. Bel followed him.

“’Card’?” she asked, amused. “Well you would be the expert considering how often you’ve been staring at that one in your pocket. …Speaking of which –”

“I’m really not interested in whatever twisted game you and the she-beast are up to, thanks,” Gilbert deadpanned. 

“Told you, did she?” Bel let out a little huff. “I should have known. She hates the Spice Girls, female confidentiality agreements mean nothing to her.”

“I wasn’t aware there was a correlation.” Gilbert slid his ID card in the reader and stepped into the prep room, Bel still behind him. They began washing up in silence until Bel spoke again.

“You didn’t—I mean. It never got that serious, did it?” she asked carefully. “I’d feel like a worm if I’d been telling you all about my dastardly Eliza-related gayness while you were still holding an Olympic-sized torch for her.”

“No Animorphing necessary,” Gilbert muttered, drying his hands before turning to let Bel help him with his scrubs. “My torch was more candle sized.”

“Fancy Yankee Candle Company candle or more impecunious pioneer woman candle?”

“What – no, god. Bel, just a normal candle,” Gilbert said, staring at his nurse with a bemused expression. “Good to know your mental yardstick is still a complex labyrinth.”

“I enjoy the fact that your analogy makes my brain a Minotaur,” Bel said solemnly, finishing getting ready herself. “But back to lumens, can you just give me a rough wattage estimate?”

“Extinguished,” Gilbert said flatly. “Being demoted from friend to cat-sitter who receives squashed chocolates as payment tends to burn out any remaining wax pretty quickly.”

Bel made a little ‘ah’ noise as she glanced one last time at the chart mounted on the wall. “Well if nothing else she’s twisted your briefs – sorry, boxer briefs – enough to quell your nervousness, right? Because I’d really like this kid to leave here without a thyroid and with most of her blood still in its vessels.”

Gilbert nodded, his stomach, for once, calm. Eliza had that effect on him. When they were talking everything felt paramount. Each word had a bone-shattering weight to it that made him frenzied and upset with the pain in an instant. It was verbal warfare, each trying to out-guerilla the other in 1940s Spain style.

Five fucking minutes after the fact and every scrap of conversation was dandelion fluff. And all he could do was stand there staring at the seeds, feeling like a complete lunatic for the bruises on his ego.

“I’ll send her a thank you card,” he muttered, tugging up his mask before heading into the room. The observation deck above the operating room was thankfully devoid of life. He and the anesthesiologist had a terse chat, and then everything but the body in front of him was blessedly driven from his mind.

Two hours later and he was back behind his desk, staring at the card again. It was time to go home. He’d already missed his first train. There would be another but it tended to be full of drunks and drunks on trains tended to vomit more than their pedestrian counterparts.

He flipped the card over, wondering if, perhaps, he was creating a mountain out of a scrap of paper just to give his brain something else to focus on. The cats would be out of his apartment by now. He could go home, be in peace, and instead he was sitting at his uncomfortable desk, fixating on a card he’d already memorized.

Or maybe he was just stalling because now that Eliza had told him to do it, there was nothing he wanted to do so little as call the stupid number.

With a quiet groan he rested his head against the desk, his phone in his hand and his thumb over the first key. 

“Just call it, asshole,” he hissed, hoping the night staff wasn’t hovering outside his office as they were wont to do. Apparently he said things during his late-night anxiety fits that translated into the most hilarious Bulgarian jokes. It was the only explanation he could think of.

While his brain was contemplating Bulgarians and their twisted humor, his thumb had decided to follow the idle threat and finished dialing the last number. Gilbert stared blankly at his smartphone’s screen, the cheerful ringing animation sending him into a frozen panic.

He heard a distant click, and then a quiet, gruff voice.

“Schmidt.”

Gilbert nearly dropped his phone in his haste to press it to his ear, desperate to say something before the man thought the call was just a stupid prank and hung up and he’d have to do this inane dance all over again.

“Hey, it’s me.”

Silence followed his rushed words, and then a slightly confused, “Me is who? Wait – no. Who is this?”

Gilbert remembered how the man’s ears had turned pink. He could almost hear it happening over the phone. A few of the knots in his stomach mercifully untwisted.

“Me is Gilbert,” he supplied helpfully, his voice more in its normal range than it had been during his first attempt at human speech. “Cat guy. Only please – god no don’t associate me with those creatures. Couch guy. We’ll go with that one.”

There came a moment’s pause and then a quiet ‘ah’ of recognition.

“Doctor Weillschmidt. Good evening.”

A gay little fairy danced across Gilbert’s mind, its sparkly pants plastered with the words ‘He Remembered Your Name And Profession.’

Gilbert choked it to death with its own Ribbon Dancer before it could multiply.

“That’s me,” he said lightly, the more rational part of his brain screaming variations of ‘act casual’ at him even while his heart was busy flopping all over his ribcage. “I’m surprised you remembered.”

“Let’s be polite and say you made an impression,” the deep voice said, a note of laughter in its timbre. Ludwig cleared his throat, and when he spoke again his voice was more subdued. “I thought maybe you’d misplaced my card. Or that I really was as incredibly moronic as I feared and you took my information out of pity alone.”

“Yeah – sorry, it took a while, I know,” Gilbert said sheepishly, scratching his cheek. “There’s… stuff. Real life stuff. I mean, my Sims are fine, in case you were worried. Strictly confined to reality.”

“You’ll have to tell me what a Sims is at dinner. If you’re still interested in letting me repay you,” Ludwig said, and Gilbert could hear the squeaking of some sort of fabric as Ludwig moved. Leather. He was going to pretend it was the sound of a leather chair in a posh, refined office.

Gilbert nodded and then remembered that he was a fucking idiot and verbalized his agreement instead. “Yeah! I mean, yes. Dinner would be great. Just nothing too fancy? I know you’re an ambassador— sorry, assistant to the – but fancy places make me get all… nervous.”

It took a moment for Gilbert to register the odd noise on the other end of the phone as laughter, and when Ludwig spoke again he sounded much lighter.

“Afraid you’ll break something? Forget which fork goes with salad?”

“The former more than anything,” Gilbert admitted, reclining a bit in his chair, one finger twirling a lock of his hair in a release of flustered energy. “Let’s just say I went on a date to a fancy place exactly once. Shards of glass ended up in her twenty dollar soup. Not the best night.”

“Were emergency stitches involved?”

“Had to use her own hair and a blunted shrimp fork. The second date was worse, though, if you can believe it.”

Ludwig laughed again, and Gilbert felt his cheeks grow warm. The guy had a nice laugh. Rich and deep – like it narrated nature documentaries about baritone hyenas. 

Or something a little less specific and weird. Bel was rubbing off on him.

Gilbert cleared his throat and then said more normally, “Anyway, yeah. Dinner would be great. I’ve got this Sunday off if Saturday night is good for you.”

“Saturday?”

Gilbert heard the rustling of paper.

“I should be able to do Saturday. Does nine o’clock work or is that too late?”

“That’s fine. My shift ends at seven actually, so that’s perfect.”

“And when you say non-fancy, do you mean I should downgrade to one Michelin star or are we talking more noodles bought out of a food truck level?”

Gilbert laughed again, his face heating up once more at the light banter. God the man was barely saying anything and already he was a mess.

“Something in between, preferably. If it were a pizza it’d have, like, watercress on it or some shit, but still be recognizable as pizza.”

“…Weirdly enough that helps. Thanks.”

There followed more silence, and then rustling again, before Ludwig said slowly, “I know it’s more of a date place, but… Mazola’s?”

Gilbert blanked for a moment on the place before a little memory tugged at him. Eliza liked their food. She would get their cannolis as takeout and binge-eat them while watching TV on her days off.

His fingers tightened a little around his phone, but all he said was a confident, “That sounds good. Give me a chance to embarrass myself trying to pronounce ‘mascarpone’ or some shit.”

“Just butcher it as much as possible. It’ll give me a chance to gently correct you and feel momentarily superior,” Ludwig suggested.

Gilbert let out a quiet snort of laughter, his grip on his phone relaxing slightly.

“I can already tell this is going to be fun. Try not to brag too much, okay? I’m sure you speak somewhere in the ballpark of eighty languages and can tap dance in three more.”

“Five, actually, but Irish hard shoe isn’t considered a formal ‘tap’ style dance.”

“Fuck – okay, I need to hang up or we’ll have nothing to talk about, you’ll have bragged yourself into a corner before then,” Gilbert laughed, turning over the business card in his fingers again. “Saturday at nine?”

“I’ll be the asshole who gets there fifteen minutes early and makes you feel guilty for being on time. That’s generally how things go with me,” Ludwig warned, but Gilbert could hear the little smile in his voice.

“Sounds insufferable,” Gilbert said, glancing out the window at the busy streets below. “Can’t wait.”

“Glad to hear it, Doctor Weillschmidt. Do take care until then.”

“Sure. You too.”

The line went dead.

Gilbert set his phone down on the desk, his fingers and cheeks all twitchy from smiling and the nervous little bursts of energy in his system. Fuck. Fuck this was a crush, wasn’t it. On the guy who had puked his weight in vodka on his couch who would probably turn out to be a serial killer who murdered for nice suits and had stolen some ambassador’s business cards and leather chair.

Gilbert ran his fingers through his hair before standing up and gathering his things to go home. Saturday. He only had two surgeries scheduled for that day, both easy. Nothing traumatizing. He wouldn’t show up all panicked and depressed. Eliza didn’t work on Saturdays. He wouldn’t show up murderous and snippy. All good things.

His movements slowed and he let out a frustrated noise, Eliza’s earlier dig returning to quietly taunt him. 

He’d just be normal, spineless himself. Pale and legally blind without his glasses. With no friends and a lackluster interest in most aspects of his career.

With a quiet curse Gilbert closed his bag and headed out of his office, tugging the door shut behind him.

It didn’t matter. This wasn’t a date, this wasn’t anything. He didn’t even know if Ludwig was gay, he didn’t even know if he could handle it if he were. He was getting worked up over a simple dinner with a near-stranger.

And that’s why you have no friends.

Gilbert growled and swatted Eliza’s voice away. She’d been teasing, and more to the point, fuck any of her opinions on the matter. Not like she was one to talk with her freak pastry eating and weird taste in what her small circle of friends deemed literature.

A bolt of lightning lit up the night sky. Gilbert made a slight detour to lost and found, stealing the most intact umbrella he could find. He stepped out into the rain, holding the broken umbrella over his head as he made a mad dash for the station.

Saturday at nine.

He’d get his mental ducks in a neat, military row by then.

Providing everyone else in the hospital just stayed the hell away from him.


	4. FOUR

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was dissatisfied with chapter three because NOT ENOUGH FLUFF so I wrote this one at the same time to appease me. Me and only me. I’ll return to this once I hit a frustration point with book again!

There were few places in the world as awkward as the middle urinal. Etiquette dictated that the farthest urinal be used first. Then the closest. Then the absolute middle. Anyone sorry enough to follow in next had to pick and choose their alliances carefully. 

Gilbert had grown up assuming it was a gay thing. Guys were so desperate to hide their cocks from another male gaze that wasn’t shoving a finger up their ass and telling them to cough in as indifferent a voice as possible. But as he grew older and realized that peeing in front of people was a vulnerable act when your blood alcohol level was resting comfortably at zero, he found himself adopting the system more and more. And getting fucking pissed off at people who broke the unspoken rules.

Like the exceptionally small prick that had just settled in directly next to him.

Gilbert kept his eyes rigidly fixed on the porcelain beauty. Sad when urine-soaked ceramics were more appealing than the human form. Well, just one human form in particular, really.

Roderich loudly cleared his throat, raising his voice to speak over the sound of five simultaneous urine streams.

“How was looking after Eliza’s cats?”

Gilbert’s gaze automatically shifted to stare at the man in disbelief. 

“…We’re pissing into fancy buckets and you’re asking about my friend’s cats.”

“My girlfriend’s cats, yes,” Roderich said, his weasely voice unctuous and insincere. “She told me you’re not a fan of felines.”

“I’m generally not a fan of any pet I could kill by accidentally dropping a toaster on it,” Gilbert muttered, giving a few shakes before zipping up. His bladder was still about half full after the three hour long surgery he’d just performed, but it had suffered acute rage performance anxiety the moment the director had appeared. He moved to wash his hands, unsurprised when Roderich quickly joined him. Pre-Eliza, Gilbert had been pretty sure Roderich was gunning to have him fired. Post-Eliza, the man had apparently realized his worth as one of Eliza’s friends, and the hostile sycophanting had commenced. The guy still hated him; that much was obvious. Every time Gilbert spoke up in a meeting Roderich’s nostrils would flare like a rabid horse’s before he would calmly dismiss whatever Gilbert had proposed and move on. No other commentary allowed.

But on a personal level, the man was trying to worm his way in. At least enough to appease Eliza, who had probably inceptioned the seed of camaraderie in his head. Forced or otherwise.

“Eliza and I had a lovely time in Aruba,” Roderich continued, apparently choosing to ignore the toaster comment. “I really can’t thank you enough for being such a good friend to her at the last minute.”

“No, but you can always try. I find generosity is best expressed in crisp, newer bills,” Gilbert deadpanned, ripping a paper towel out of the dispenser. “The older ones make it feel like an obligation, you know?”

Roderich let out an awkward, nasally laugh. Gilbert stared at the older man, his eyes drifting (as they always did) to the mole on his chin. He bet if Roderich slacked on his upkeep the mole would grow hair. A single, long, coarse hair. A fucking face pube.

“I forget how unique your brand of humor is, Doctor Weillschmidt.”

“Comes with the albinism,” Gilbert muttered, adjusting his glasses as he pushed his way past Roderich. “Buy terrible vision and sun sensitivity, get a bitter, deadpan personality free.”

Roderich’s discomfited laughter died down, but the director followed Gilbert out into the hallway. Which was just swell. 

His surgeries had gone off without a hitch. It was almost seven o’clock. He’d get to go home, shower, and then do the thing. The thing he didn’t want to think about because now that the surgeries were over and it was almost seven o’clock his brain was running out of distractions and wanted nothing more than to take his anxiety out on Roderich. 

The director continued to follow him down the hall, falling back into business talk since Gilbert hadn’t taken the Aruba bait. Gilbert remained silent, wondering what exactly was on the other man’s mind to cause him to go into daylight stalker mode. He and Roderich generally interacted as little as possible. Apart from glaring at each other over clipboards and Gilbert snarling at him when the man refused to sign his grant petitions, they went out of their way to avoid each other. They’d worked on a few cases together out of necessity, some of the more stubborn illnesses, one strange instance of tuberculosis. Other than that, however, their paths rarely crossed. Roderich remained in his office on the fifth floor or in the observation rooms above the operating rooms, perched above the gurneys like a bespectacled vulture. And Gilbert remained in his office on the second, on rounds, or in surgical scrubs. Glass separated them ninety percent of the time, kept them apart like two zoo animals that would otherwise disembowel each other the moment the keeper’s back was turned.

As they rounded the corner that led to Gilbert’s office, Roderich suddenly ceased talking about economizing the budget to prepare for the east wing expansion. While the silence was welcome, Gilbert couldn’t stave off his curiosity. He stopped in his tracks and glanced up at the director, one eyebrow raised.

“What.”

Roderich pursed his lips, his eye twitching at the aggressive tone. The way he was shuffling side to side made Gilbert think of what little kids did when they had to pee. The anxious pee dance. The dance for pee.

“It’s about Elizaveta.”

“Well no shit,” Gilbert said in exasperation, pushing open the door to his office and stepping inside, grudgingly holding it open for Roderich. “Considering that is literally our one aspect in common outside of where we work. What about her?”

Roderich strode into the office as though it were his own and took a seat in one of the chairs, motioning for Gilbert to do the same. Gilbert felt his hackles rise at the condescending gesture, but he followed the silent order without comment, quirking an eyebrow at the older man once they were both settled. 

Roderich frowned at him over his glasses.

“The language, Doctor Weillschmidt. I’ve told you to clean it up,” he said, his voice cooling to zero Kelvin. “This is a children’s hospital. There are children present.”

“Unless you’re vacationing in the seedier parts of Fire Island, I’m pretty sure there are children present everywhere, in my defense,” Gilbert pointed out. “Although I doubt any snuck into my private office. You can dock my pay for being a filthy mouthed heathen later, Doctor Edelstein. What do you want.”

Roderich’s blue eyes narrowed to viciously thin slits. He stared at Gilbert in silence for a moment before visibly deflating.

“I came to ask for your permission.”

Gilbert blinked, slowly, unsure if he’d heard right.

“…Come again?”

The sound of Roderich’s teeth grinding could have drowned out a jackhammer.

“I said. I came to ask for your permission,” the man repeated, outwardly the very picture of calm grace. “To court her.”

“To court her,” Gilbert repeated slowly, leaning back in his chair. “Because this hospital lies in a time bubble where it’s perpetually 1890s France.”

Roderich gave him a withering look that said quite plainly that he didn’t find Gilbert to be at all charming.

“Because you’re her friend. And a former roommate, I imagine there’s some emotions involved there,” he said politely. “I wanted to make my intentions fully known. I felt contacting her parents would be a bit premature, but she seems to hold you in high regard.”

Gilbert felt his throat tighten with irritation bordering on rage. The man looked so calm, so sanctimonious and complacent with his humility. That he’d deigned to ask the lowly, neurotic doctor for permission to date someone who was his ex in spirit only. And Roderich didn’t even know that. As far as he was concerned they were just good friends.

Gilbert forced himself to open his mouth a bit when he realized he was clenching his jaw. It cracked painfully, but that didn’t stop him from launching into his curt speech.

“You don’t ask my permission to date her,” he said brusquely. “’You just don’t. First of all, we were never dating, and second of all that’s really fucking weird. And misogynistic as hell. Third of all, even if that first thing and that second thing weren’t true, isn’t it a little late? Aruba’s not really a place you go when you’re just testing the waters.”

“Aruba was a trial, of sorts. To see how we would handle one another outside routine,” Roderich explained, crossing his legs and settling his hands atop his bony knee. “It went very well, I thought, and I would like to progress our relationship. She’s meeting my parents tonight, and—”

“Why are you telling me this?” Gilbert interrupted, his stomach giving a sick lurch. “I’m not Cosmo, I don’t give a fuck – sorry, a flying flip – about your sex life. Especially with one of my best friends. Until Eliza comes to me and tells me she’s either got a ring, or it’s over, I really don’t care.”

Roderich fell quiet, his blue eyes studying Gilbert carefully from behind his glasses. Gilbert felt like a specimen on a slide. One that was not reacting as expected.

Good.

“I’d hoped you would appreciate the gesture, at least,” Roderich finally said. “I know things between us are rather rocky, but I am the director of this portion of the hospital. I’ve let your attitude slide for the most part because of your talent. But I hope you continue to bear in mind that your position here is a precarious one. You are still in your trial period as a surgeon.”

“The constant Post-It notes on my door emblazoned with ‘one wrong nick and you’re canned’ kind of drove the message home, but I always appreciate being reminded in person,” Gilbert said, leaning back in his chair.

Roderich made a quiet noise of frustration.

“I do not understand your animosity towards me. I have been nothing but tolerant –”

“You keep undermining my projects and recommendations!” Gilbert snapped.

“Because they’re terrible projects and recommendations! You nearly killed a patient!”

“If they’d actually had degenerative disc disease they’d be thanking me,” Gilbert muttered, the reminder stinging. He glanced at the clock – seven fifteen – and began packing his things.

“We’re not done here, Doctor Weillschmidt.”

Gilbert stared at the man in disbelief.

“Not done – all you’ve said so far is that you’re planning on boning my friend into meeting your parents and reminded me what a shitty doctor I am. To the best of my knowledge, that’s the extent of your M.O. What more do you want from me?”

“I want you to understand that we’re not children, Doctor Weillschmidt,” Roderich snapped, standing up as well. “I understand your jealousies and have been tolerant of them for the sake of workplace peace, but—”

Gilbert felt his blood run cold. He’d thought Roderich hadn’t caught on to his little obsession. He’d been very careful to lock away that part of his personality. So far only Bel had figured it out – and she was an insane outlier. Which meant—

“Eliza told you?”

Roderich had the decency to look chagrined. He coughed and straightened his tie. 

“Well, yes,” he said in an affectedly disinterested voice. “We’d been drinking, and she mentioned you. I wasn’t surprised, of course, with how close the two of you are.”

“Were,” Gilbert muttered, shoving a file in his bag, white hot fury clouding his vision. Eliza had told him. Probably phrased it to sound like one of her interesting stories that always drew crowds at parties. He’d probably replaced the tale of the mango cadaver or the story of the stray dog that had stolen one of her cultures. His humiliation and emotional pain was just a part of her repertoire now because she thought humor was the way to put any interpersonal kerfuffle behind her.

But Roderich had been her test audience. And that was what rankled more than anything.

Roderich shook his head, his stupid cowlick flopping all over the place like a weird antenna.

“And this is what I feared. You are too immature to—”

“As far as I can tell, Director, the prize for immaturity falls more in your camp,” Gilbert snapped, throwing his bag over his shoulder. “This is a workplace. And while I don’t care about the odd passing remark about my personal life, I’d rather it stay personal. Outside the hospital. And I don’t exactly relish you marching into my office like you own it—”

“Technically it isn’t your office,” Roderich calmly interrupted. “You share it with three other doctors.”

“My name’s on the fucking door!” Gilbert exploded. “Just – God.” He ran his fingers through his greasy hair – when was the last time he’d showered – and stared warily at Roderich before speaking again, much more controlled.

“I’ll summarize. I don’t care what you do. I don’t care if you and Eliza get married on a beach in Spain, I don’t care if the two of you become rogue archeologists together. I don’t care if you stumble into a time portal and wake up in Victorian England. Do whatever the hell you want. Just leave me out of it.”

Roderich’s eyes narrowed behind his glasses, but he gave a small nod.

“I was merely trying to look out for you,” he said politely. “As both your senior at this hospital and as someone who bears you no ill-will in particular.”

“Your concern means the world, Director. Thank you for not firing me today,” Gilbert muttered, heading over to the door and yanking it open. On the other side were Bel and Lian. One side of their faces was red and both were staring off into the distance, chatting casually about the newest influx of patients. 

Gilbert stared at the nurses, unimpressed, but Roderich’s voice made him turn around.

“Where are you off to in such a hurry, Doctor Weillschmidt?”

Gilbert stared at the director and then said blandly, “Dinner,” before shutting the door. Let Roderich let himself out. It would be the most work he’d done in a month.

He glared at the two nurses as he passed them, but Bel just wiggled her fingers and said sweetly, “Enjoy dinner. Let me know if dinner puts out on the first date.”

Lian let out a choked snort of laughter and then murmured to Bel, “Eliza’s got more riding on it, doesn’t she?”

Gilbert blocked out the rest of the conversation as he stormed down the hall, his blood still boiling. He didn’t care if the nurses eavesdropped. He used to do the same back when he was in medical school. Cliques were small, drama was abundant and interesting. He just wasn’t used to being the center of attention when it came to it.

It was raining again outside. The umbrella that he’d stolen was crumpled up in the bottom of his bag, and in the process of yanking it out several files fell to the ground, instantly soaking up about a liter of water each. Gilbert scooped them up and tried to dry them off before he gave up and slugged his way down the water-logged street towards the station.

The conversation with Roderich had done a good job of erasing his nerves. But it had erased more than just nerves, unfortunately, and the entire ride home Gilbert was a silent, fuming mess of emotions. Roderich was introducing her to his parents. Probably showing her off like a trophy girlfriend. Beautiful, intelligent, highly-paid, charming. Gilbert had no idea what Roderich’s family was like, but it didn’t take much for him to conjure up images of old money wasps and men with coiffed hair who talked too much about yachting and single malt whiskey. 

Gilbert leaned forward and rested his forehead against a window, not caring when the train jerked around a corner and smacked him in the head. Roderich hadn’t consciously picked the thing that would irritate and upset him the most. The man didn’t know him that well. He probably didn’t even know he was a foster home kid. It usually didn’t occur to people. They more often than not simply assumed that he was too career obsessed to talk about his family or that he was estranged from them. The whole bi thing provided good evidence for the latter; his promotion to surgeon evinced the former. 

The train lurched to a stop and Gilbert stumbled out onto the platform, checking the time. The conversation with Roderich had cost him nearly forty minutes. He’d have to rush to shower and get ready. Mazola’s was about forty five minutes away by train. Twenty by taxi.

Gilbert busied himself with mental arithmetic, calculating how much time he had for what as he headed to his apartment and went inside. Bag stowed, clothes shoved in the hamper, he took a quick shower and then spent ten minutes debating what to wear. When he realized he had less than seven minutes to get dressed and attempt to fix his hair he went with the black button up and red jeans option, tugging them quickly on. Garish, but his other pants were starting to smell. And sprout in places. Sentience was only a week away.

After throwing some product in his hair and failing to stab himself correctly in the eye with his contacts, he abandoned the hell-lenses and rushed out of the apartment, his glasses nearly sliding off his face and his boots unlaced. He managed to catch his train and spent the three quarters of an hour mentally prepping himself. Roderich’s snide face was still floating in his vision, and it was taking every ounce of effort not to call up the head director and complain about the gross breach of personal… something. He was sure he’d be able to come up with a valid sounding complaint.

When the train reached his stop, Gilbert took his time following the flow of the weekend crowd. The restaurant was located in one of the livelier areas of downtown. Most of the pedestrians were dressed in clubbing clothes, and it took some effort to get around them. The girls crawled along at a snail’s pace in their ridiculously high-heeled shoes. Gilbert checked his phone’s GPS, moving carefully through the streets until he spotted the bright sign. He was five minutes late. Not bad.

He stuck his head in the restaurant and asked the maître about any tables under the name Ludwig. Before the man could answer he felt a light tap on his back. He spun around, surprised to see Ludwig standing behind him.

“Jumpy,” Ludwig observed, pushing up the sleeves of his (much more casual) suit coat. No tie, thank god, which meant this wasn’t a date. Which he already knew, but the semi-casual attire confirmed it.

“I thought you’d be waiting at a table,” Gilbert explained, glancing up at the man. Shit. He was taller than he remembered. And his face was much nicer than Roderich’s fucking stoat-inspired lineaments. 

A look of disgust must have crossed his face, because Ludwig suddenly looked unsure.

“Well I put my name in, but I hate just sitting there by myself,” he said hurriedly. “And I thought you wouldn’t mind if I waited out here, or—”

“It’s fine,” Gilbert quickly interrupted, not in the mood just then to cater to any little guilt fest. He was still too much on edge. “Is the table ready?”

Ludwig hesitated, but after a bit nodded and gestured for Gilbert to follow him. Thankfully they’d been put in a corner by the window, and Gilbert sat with his back to the wall, needing the bit of mental security. Ludwig took his seat as well, flagging a waiter. He quietly ordered a beer for himself, and when the waiter glanced his way Gilbert just said, “The same,” his eyes fixed on the window and the busy streets outside.

The waiter left quickly.

Gilbert could hear Ludwig fidgeting, very slightly, and he glanced at the blonde. Ludwig looked a bit nervous, which was hilarious on him. Despite the irritation still boiling under his skin, Gilbert grinned.

“What?”

Ludwig’s blue eyes darted up, his cheeks coloring. 

“I was just thinking, you’re acting a bit… different,” he said cautiously. “And I was wondering if I’d put you out, somehow.”

“Put me out?” Gilbert struggled a moment with the unfamiliar phrase, but then just shrugged and shook his head. “No, it’s not you,” he promised. “My boss is an earwig in disguise and pissed me off right as I was leaving work. Got me a bit agitated. I tried to leave it at work, but…” He snorted and ran his fingers through his hair. Fat lot of good the gel had done. It was just as crazy fluffy as usual.

“Sorry. I’m sure beer will help me come around.”

“All right.”

Ludwig didn’t sound entirely convinced, but the waiter brought by their drinks then, which was a nice distraction. They sipped at them in silence, Gilbert losing himself again to moodiness before Ludwig spoke up once more.

“An earwig, huh.” His large fingers toyed with his beer bottle. “Where did it get its degree?”

Gilbert started at the odd question before he remembered his choice of insult. A huge grin broke out on his face and he laughed.

“God, you know how to get in my good graces quickly. Letting me rant about my shit of a boss.”

“Well it’s not really his fault. Evolutionarily speaking,” Ludwig said, his eyes softening a bit with obvious relief.

“I’m not a fan of Darwinian-based sympathy,” Gilbert warned, taking a more generous swig of beer. “And it’s complicated. Small cast of characters but a rather turbid history.”

“Considering I don’t have all that much to bring to the table conversation-wise, I don’t mind being the bigger man and letting you rant to me about complete strangers,” Ludwig said, a very small smile on his face. “This is a thank you dinner, after all. You should be able to talk about whatever you want.”

The slight shift in the man’s expression made Gilbert realize again how model-esq the guy was. It was a nice distraction (the alcohol was already doing its part to help), and without much further preamble Gilbert launched into a blistering speech about Roderich’s less than divine personality. Somewhere in between him ranting about fellowship fiascos and botched surgical operations (that would have gone fine if Roderich hadn’t been back-seat incisioning him), their food was ordered, arrived, and was half devoured.

“—and then had the gall to ask me if I wouldn’t mind cosigning the decision when I’d been against it from the start!” Gilbert waved around a pizza crust for emphasis. “He’s such a pathetic worm. I can’t believe Eliza’s interested in him – he doesn’t even have a big dick! I had the displeasure of being blinded by its uncircumcised monster eye this afternoon.”

He blinked when he realized the conversation had taken a very un-dinner-like turn, and with a mumbled apology he downed the rest of his third beer. So much for making a good impression.

He glanced cautiously over his beer bottle at Ludwig, expecting to see the man either half-asleep or irritable. But instead he looked thoughtful, his brow furrowed. Gilbert set his beer bottle down, clearing his throat.

“Ah… aha. So there’s that. Roderich. His entire life story,” he said as lightly as he could, pushing around half-gnawed crusts on his plate. “I promise I’d have been a better dinner companion if he hadn’t decided to go all self-righteous on me this afternoon. Although honestly my hatred of Roderich is probably the most interesting thing about me, so. Probably would have wound up there eventually…”

Ludwig waved a dismissive hand. “It’s fine. I’m a better listener than a talker, really. One of the reasons I was hired. They needed someone to kiss a lot of asses without being obvious about it.”

“Oh, I’m sure that’s not true,” Gilbert said awkwardly, every stupid thing he’d said over the past half hour coming back to him in a nice little rush of humiliation. Had he really complained about Roderich’s nasal sneeze? That petty? “I mean they probably hired you to stand around and look good, too. What with your Adonis physique.”

“Adonis?”

Ludwig snorted, but his cheeks were red again. 

“I wouldn’t go that far.” He frowned. “Although they have been insisting I wear snugger and snugger pants. They told me it was a dress code change, but…”

Gilbert let out a loud burst of laughter that attracted several glances their way. He politely waved them off and then leaned more across the table, grinning at Ludwig.

“They probably saw the blonde hair and thought you’d make a nice malleable Ken doll,” he teased. “Little did they know you drink like a racehorse and the muscles aren’t just for show.” He paused and then said worriedly, “They aren’t just for show, right? Because I agreed to this outing in the hopes of seeing you get all hopped up on alcohols again and hulking out on some unsuspecting pedestrian.”

“Not just for show,” Ludwig promised, patting his bicep. “Special forces. Before I got into politics.”

“You’re some conservative’s wet dream, I hope you know that,” Gilbert said seriously.

“I’d hate to have to settle for just ‘some.’ Think there’s a way I could get on all their lists?”

“Abortion clinic protests might do it,” Gilbert said, grabbing another slice of pizza and nibbling at it as their waiter came by. “Or starring in a maudlin commercial about how gay marriage will murder babies.”

Ludwig shook his head, handing the waiter his credit card. “I’d prefer something that doesn’t require I change my moral stance,” he said absently. “And I’m fairly sure my ex would be rather pissed if he saw me indirectly protesting his engagement considering it’s all of a week old. Still an infant.”

He seemed to realize what he’d said and then quickly stammered, “S-Sorry, I don’t… usually reveal that kind of stuff –” He averted his eyes, folding his hands atop the table. It was a politician’s stance. Heavily guarded and unreadable.

Gilbert raised an eyebrow, chewing thoughtfully on his pizza. Well. That was interesting.

He was just going to ignore the happy jumping in his stomach.

“Gay or bi?”

Ludwig’s bright blue eyes flicked across the table to scrutinize him for a moment before he said evenly, “My record would point towards gay.”

“Gotcha. And Honda is…?”

“A friend,” Ludwig said stiffly. “Not my ex, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“That’s exactly what I’m asking.” Gilbert grinned and tapped his nose. “Wanted to know if you were actually trying to sneak into my apartment for a drunken booty call.”

“What – god, no,” Ludwig said weakly, his stiff posturing caving in somewhat. “I’ve only had two and neither are even in the country any longer. Two ex-boyfriends, not two… two bootycalls…”

“You’re that shitty of a boyfriend, huh? Just changing counties wasn’t enough, they had to flee the country?” Gilbert said sympathetically.

“They’re both politicians, if you must know. Or related to the field,” Ludwig said, signing the check that had been dropped off at the table. “And both are ancient history by now. Although we still keep in touch.” He busied himself with putting his credit card back in his wallet, his face red. “Sorry. In my line of work it isn’t… prudent to talk about these sorts of things. I’m not especially comfortable with it.”

Gilbert took advantage of the distraction to steal Ludwig’s partially finished beer, downing it. He’d reached the lovely stage of drinking where his lips were just a bit tingly and words came a bit easier and without self-loathing tags stuck to them. He licked his lips and shrugged, and then said lightly, “It’s fine by me. I’m half gay on my father’s side, so I can understand where you’re coming from. Although, er, my physical record is more… vaginas. Exclusively, actually.”

“Oh. I see.”

Ludwig gave up trying to fit his card in its proper place and just shoved it in with the bills in his wallet. He took a sip of water, and Gilbert was amused to see his hand shaking. He lightly kicked the blonde under the table.

“Buddy. Relax,” he said soothingly .”I’m not going to run out and tell the press that you love the cock. I don’t think they’d care even if I did.”

“If you phrased it like that someone might take umbrage,” Ludwig mumbled, but his tense shoulders did loosen a bit. He stood up and Gilbert followed suit.

“Well,” Ludwig began haltingly. “This was. Different than I was expecting.”

Different.

Gilbert felt himself grow anxious, even under the beer blanket.

“Different… bad?” he questioned, tilting his head to the side. “I know – I talk a lot. It’s my disease.”

“Not bad different,” Ludwig said, his voice surprisingly reassuring. “I—I don’t know what I expected, actually.” His lips quirked up in a very slight smile. “The red pants were a surprise, though.”

“They’re clean,” Gilbert said solemnly, heading towards the door. “That should win your gratitude, not your scorn. And I didn’t show up in my scrubs – which by the way, do you know why scrubs are green?”

“No, I’m afraid I don’t,” Ludwig said in mild amusement, following after Gilbert. “Why are scrubs green.”

“It’s so your red receptors don’t get oversaturated. It helps you see blood better,” Gilbert explained, shivering as they stepped out into the cold night air. “Isn’t that interesting? Fucking shame though – green looks god awful on me. I don’t have a speck of it in my actual wardrobe. Makes me look like I’m a piece of Wonder bread that’s gone moldy.”

From behind him came an odd snirking noise, and Gilbert turned to stare curiously over his shoulder. Ludwig’s face was slightly red again, but it was obvious that this time it was from holding back laughter, not embarrassment. Gilbert scowled slightly and prodded the man in the arm.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Ludwig chuckled quietly and rubbed the back of his neck. “Just – that’s more how I expected dinner to go. With how bizarre you were the first time I met you. And I don’t mean your appearance—” he added hastily. “I mean, I’ve never met an albino before, but it’s not… your weirdness is innate. Inside. God this is just getting worse the longer I talk, isn’t it.”

“Albinism,” Gilbert corrected automatically, still staring at Ludwig. “Only time it’s okay to use albino is if you’re referring specifically to that one character in the Princess Bride.”

“Ah… sorry,” Ludwig said, subdued. “I’ve… I’ve never met a person with albinism before. I wasn’t sure…”

“National meetings are on Thursday.” Gilbert worried at his lip for a moment and then smiled. Ludwig had apologized. He was flustered and his ears were red with the night chill and he looked so nervous for such a big guy. Like a giant teddy bear.

“Thank you, by the way,” he said suddenly, tugging on Ludwig’s sleeve. “For dinner. I was so incensed honestly I didn’t taste it all that much, but I’m sure it was really good.” He fumbled for a moment and then said awkwardly, “And thanks for… letting me know a bit about you, I guess. Spent several hours with you and up until the last minute I couldn’t have said anything more about you than your profession and your name. And your telephone number which I accidentally memorized so it’s not a creepy thing. I promise.”

“The pizza was mediocre. I know better places but… you said medium fancy,” Ludwig said quietly, his hands in his pockets and a very small smile on his face. “But you’re welcome. And thank you for not… thank you.” He let out a little breath. “To be honest that was my first time being so candid with someone. And it feels…”

“…Awful?” Gilbert supplied. “Like you want to go back in time and punch yourself before you can say anything.”

“Yes, that’s the one,” Ludwig said dryly. “Is there a name for that?”

“Medically, no,” Gilbert said, feeling himself start to smile like a complete idiot. “Socially, I think it’s just called having a conversation with someone you don’t know very well. But for some reason everyone wants to pretend that their regret-itis is a special condition unique to them.”

“I thought you said it didn’t have a medical name,” Ludwig challenged, raising an eyebrow. “What’s this ‘regret-itis’?”

Gilbert cursed and clamped a hand over his mouth before glaring up at Ludwig.

“You heard nothing. There are some secrets civilians just aren’t ready for.”

“Technically I’m still not a civilian,” Ludwig said, taking a tiny step closer to Gilbert. “I think I can be trusted with our nation’s medical secrets.”

“Nu-uh,” Gilbert swore, drawing an ‘x’ over his lips. “I’m not ready to go down for this. Not over a stupid fucking joke.”

Ludwig laughed at that, the noise relaxed and lighthearted. Gilbert found himself grinning as well and was about to give in and make up some bullshit illness when Ludwig suddenly spoke again.

“Do you want to get coffee? I – there’s. Coffee, somewhere. At a store or at my apartment. It exists, I’m sure. And since I’m worried you might feel cheated conversation-wise we could fix that. Maybe.”

Gilbert started in surprise and then said slowly, “Is this an existential discussion about whether coffee exists or an actual invitation? Either way, I uh. I’d...”

Fuck… was this really a good idea? It wasn’t a date and drinking coffee at eleven thirty at night was a fuck-all stupid idea. Which is why when people usually said ‘getting coffee’ they meant more of the stereotypical sitcom kind of coffee. Everyone knew that, even blushy gargantuan ambassadors.

But tipsy Gilbert’s brain pointed out that if he went home in his current state he’d freak out about all the stupid shit he said about dinner for five minutes and then spent the rest of the evening torturing himself over what Roderich and Eliza were up to.

Distractions were good. Even caffeine at nearly midnight.

Gilbert’s smile relaxed and he wrinkled his nose.

“I’d enjoy speculating about the existence of coffee with you for a bit longer, sure,” he said casually, clasping his hands behind his head. “So do we Apparate there or are you hooked up to the Floo network?”

When all he received was a blank look, Gilbert sighed, shook his head, and said, “This is going to be a painful coffee. Half my speech is made up of pop-culture references and movie quotes.”

“I’ll just spent the entire time Googling every other word. We’ll get through this,” Ludwig solemnly promised, pulling out his cell phone. While he dialed, Gilbert glanced up at the buildings around them, his tipsy mind finding enjoyment in the way the lines all converged together at the top. 

There came a tap on his shoulder, and he glanced over at Ludwig who was standing next to a large, black car that had appeared out of nowhere. Gilbert stared at it, not sure what was happening, and after a moment Ludwig rolled his eyes and gently tugged on his arm.

“It’s just a town car, Doctor. I’m sure you’ve seen plenty in your day.”

“I’m more acquainted with its less stable brother public transport, actually,” Gilbert said weakly, sliding into the car and bouncing a bit on the leather seats. Ludwig got in behind him, closed the door, and they were off. 

Gilbert leaned back against the seat, trying to fight back his sudden wave of nervousness. Why had he done this again? It was so unlike him. He tried to pretend like he was spontaneous but as his bookshelf of meticulously organized tomes would attest to, spontaneity wasn’t in his blood. 

He twisted his fingers in his shirt, half-seriously considering telling Ludwig to pull over, he wanted out, when a gentle touch to his arm made him look up. Ludwig was staring at him worriedly, his blue eyes wide and a few strands of slicked-back blonde hair falling over his forehead.

“Are you going to be sick?” he asked quietly. “I can have the driver pull over.”

Something unwound in Gilbert’s chest at the gentle tone. He shook his head, snuggling deeper into the comfortable seat.

“Nope,” he said cheerfully, closing his eyes. “Everything’s still pleasant and floaty. Stage one inebriation only.”

“Glad to hear it,” Ludwig said, his voice amused again.

Gilbert kept his eyes closed as they drove, the gentle hum of the car nearly soothing him into sleep, the warm body beside him assisting. Thoughts of Eliza and Roderich would float to the surface every once in a while, but almost as though he could sense them, Ludwig would quietly speak up, asking him a question or clarifying a point he’d made earlier in the evening. 

By the time the town car pulled to a stop, Gilbert would have been hard pressed to even say who Eliza and Roderich were.

And for the time being ,as Ludwig offered him a hand out of the car, he was more than content for the two of them to stay gone.


	5. FIVE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to get out. I’ve been in a horrible writing slump lately, so this chapter is all fluff. Important fluff, but still. Like the pure cotton of the fic. I really shouldn’t write my notes at one in the morning.

Gilbert was wholly unsurprised (and still partially influenced by drink) when he saw just where the town car had stopped. A town house, of course. To continue the theme. Old and classy as fuck. Lovely flower boxes too. Peonies or something. Mums. Were mums a thing other than English maternal units.

Gilbert only realized he’d been spacing out when he felt a light tug on his arm. He glanced up at Ludwig who seemed amused. He was grinning like an idiot in any case, which Gilbert felt meant that he was doing something right. Probably being very charming. Thinking about classy things like flowers and British mothers.

“I know. I’m adorable when I’m tipsy,” he said, tapping the side of his nose. “Can’t resist, can you Mr. Ambassador?”

“You’re about to topple over and get your adorable brains all over the sidewalk is what you are,” Ludwig said, patting Gilbert on the back. “Alcohol or tired?”

“Three parts tired, one part whatever that last drink was,” Gilbert said absently, following Ludwig up the steps (carefully) to the townhouse door. “I did three surgeries today. That’s one more than two.”

“And elementary level math is clearly one of your fortes, in addition to cutting up people without them dying,” Ludwig said pleasantly, unlocking the door. 

“But two is usually my limit,” Gilbert supplied, “That’s why it’s special.”

He tiptoed after Ludwig as the man entered the town house. Once inside Gilbert stood still. It was dark and he was slightly drunk. Very bad combination for not bumping shins. He could hear Ludwig rustling around and a moment later a light came on, revealing a charming hallway. Lots of dark wood paneling, tile floor. All that.

Gilbert noticed the neat rows of shoes by the door and immediately dropped to his butt to tug his own off. He heard Ludwig laugh and say wryly, “I was just about to tell you, you didn’t have to bother. The maid’s coming tomorrow.”

“You have a maid,” Gilbert said in awe, setting his shoes aside before pushing himself to his shaky feet. “That’s what rich people have.”

“It’s what people who have rich friends have too,” Ludwig said, heading down the hallway. Gilbert padded after him, absently noting the lack of photographs and things.

“Did you just move here?”

“Hm? No. I hardly stay here more than a few months at a time, though, with the traveling,” Ludwig replied, turning into a small but beautiful kitchen. Granite countertops. Fuck.

Gilbert plunked himself down in one of the chairs at the kitchen table, watching Ludwig putter around getting the coffee going. He propped up his elbows on the nearby island counter, a huge grin on his face.

“So you really do intend to ply me with caffeine. You’re a brave one.”

Ludwig raised an eyebrow.

“Is there something I should know?”

“People I went to med school with cringe when they see me carrying a paper cup, that’s all I’m saying,” Gilbert laughed, his head still pleasantly floaty. Ludwig hummed in response, clicking a switch on his fancy coffee maker before he moved to the table as well. He took a seat across from Gilbert and folded his hands, resting them atop the walnut surface.

“…And this is the awkward part,” he said, his blue eyes focused on a point just over Gilbert’s shoulder. “Before beverages can be used as conversational levies.”

“You can tell me more about your bitching house,” Gilbert said enthusiastically, turning around in his chair to face Ludwig. “I don’t know anyone with a house. And I know rich doctors and things but most of them are like me and still paying off medical school expenses.”

“Bitching – well it’s old, if that’s what you’re getting at,” Ludwig said, bemused. “The ambassador had this as one of his properties but the upkeep got to be too much. He knows I’m something of a factotum and asked if I wanted to live here and act as a landlord in return for him charging me incredibly little.” He let out a little breath. “So I get to live in this enormous place all by myself. And the maid won’t let me fire her.” He clicked his tongue in irritation and Gilbert burst out laughing.

“Won’t let you – why the fuck would you want to get rid of a maid? Send her to my place, then. God knows I could use a bit of help.”

“Based on the complete absence of lint on your clothes when you showed up to dinner I doubt you actually need much assistance,” Ludwig said, a very small smile on his face. His expression quickly darkened. “…She doesn’t dust in the corners properly. This place is nothing but wainscoting – if one section goes, the whole room goes.”

Gilbert raised an eyebrow and studied Ludwig’s serious face for a moment before he grinned and reached out to tap Ludwig’s nose.

“Can I get you to say ‘wainscoting’ again? The timbre of your voice is like crushed velvet or sweet ass bear fur.”

“Wainscoting?” Ludwig slowly repeated, which made Gilbert burst into laughter once more. Ludwig politely let him finish hacking up a lung when the laughter got out of control, but then he said dryly, “I wasn’t aware I had bear fur voice. Nor that I’m a comedian, or is that the alcohol talking.”

“No you’re really fucking funny,” Gilbert insisted, immediately springing to Ludwig’s defense. “Which is one of the reasons I was so jazzed you called me. I mean hot, rich, savory – that’s soup, fuck me, uh. Charming!” He snapped his fingers, his cheeks flushed from excitement and drink. “You’re charming! You’re like one of those Disney princes! Even have the castle!”

“Castle?” Ludwig repeated, glancing around the admittedly compact kitchen. There was a small smile on his face as his gaze rested on Gilbert again. He seemed pleased even as he snorted and said, “I would hardly call myself charming. You came late so you missed me yelling at the wait staff. We were supposed to have the chef’s table because I’m, as an ex put it, a stuck up cretin.”

“I’m sure it was a very manly and vigorous roar of justice,” Gilbert said dismissively, his eyes tracking Ludwig’s movements as the other man stood and went to finish making the coffee.

“Roar of justice… oh no. Are you not buying my mild mannered alter-ego?” Ludwig’s amused voice drifted up from the other side of the kitchen. “Should I ramp up the passive incompetence?”

Gilbert grinned and propped his chin up on the counter again.

“It’s convincing enough. Missing glasses, though. Every mild mannered alter ego has glasses. Union rules,” he said, scrunching his nose when a hot cup of coffee slid across the counter towards him. He picked it up and stared expectantly at Ludwig. The other man looked confused for a moment and then slowly guessed, “You want… sugar?” At Gilbert’s scowl he quickly amended, “Milk? Cream?” He chuckled when Gilbert wiggled his cup. He turned to the fridge, returning with a bottle of milk. He set it down on the table with a little smile, his blue eyes crinkling around the corners.

“Use your words. I’m sure working with a bunch of kids has stripped you of your higher language functions but I’d accept even a grunt.”

“God you’re mean. What part of you is mild, exactly,” Gilbert complained, dumping some of the milk in his coffee before glancing up at Ludwig, another cleverer retort on the tip of his tongue. It stuttered and died when he actually met the other man’s eyes. Ludwig was obviously trying not to stare, but the way his glance was darting back and forth from his cup of coffee to Gilbert’s face was hard to miss. Gilbert felt his cheeks go red.

“W-What?”

“What?” Ludwig practically jumped and narrowly avoided sloshing hot coffee on his hands. He cursed and quickly set down his cup, averting his eyes. Gilbert bit his lip when he saw how red Ludwig’s ears were, and he was sober enough to put two and two together fairly quickly.

Arithmetic.

Before he could speak, however, Ludwig straightened up and said, “I have a roof.” He winced and Gilbert had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. Suitably flustered, Ludwig tried again.

“I – there’s. It’s a flat roof,” he mumbled. “And sometimes it’s nice to sit there and… and there’s. Sky. And I’m pretty sure we still have a moon—”

“Ludwig,” Gilbert interrupted, unable to handle much fumbling. “Do I need to bust out my second grade science book and show you the section on our solar system or do you want me to come up onto the roof with you?”

“See, you can be forward and funny because you’re drunk,” Ludwig complained. “I don’t have that kind of luxury.”

“I’m barely tipsy anymore,” Gilbert pointed out, quickly standing up, his heart pounding quickly. Roof. That was normally a spot reserved for sitcoms and dramas. He didn’t know anyone in the city that had rooftop access, but of course this beautiful charismatic asshole would.

“You’re still wobbling,” Ludwig pointed out, heading towards the stairs that started in the entry way. “That says tipsy to me.”

“Oh, I didn’t know there was another doctor here,” Gilbert said in astonishment, cradling his coffee against his chest as he walked. “I can’t believe I haven’t seen you at any conferences. And for your information, doctor, putting seven teaspoons of sugar into one mug of coffee is a recipe for diabetes. I’m sure your advanced age made you forget.”

“It wasn’t seven – God, you saw that?” Ludwig groaned, a quiet laugh in his voice. “Fuck. There goes my image. From taciturn badass to sweet toothed simpleton in seven easy teaspoons.”

He paused at the top of the steps, holding out a hand for Gilbert to take for the last few. Gilbert accepted it readily enough, but there was a mystified smile on his face.

“Were those last two steps extra treacherous or something?” he asked.

Ludwig shook his head and then said solemnly, “No. I just didn’t want you to fall backwards from shock when I tell you that I.” He let out a little breath. “…I hate coffee.”

Gilbert stared at the full mug in Ludwig’s hands and then glanced back up at the man, confused for a moment before understanding dawned. A warm, happy peach pit of a feeling settled in his stomach, resting comfortably amongst his organs.

“So. This is all just… pretext?” he asked carefully. “Not even thinly veiled?”

Ludwig nodded and took another sip of his drink as he walked down a hall. His grimace traveled all the way to his broad shoulders.

“This is the second most I’ve suffered just to keep a conversation going,” he said, pushing open a door that led to another, narrower, staircase. “I’m glad you’re appreciative of my efforts.”

“Second most?” Gilbert inquired, following after Ludwig. He had to cling to the handrail, and halfway up stopped to chug his coffee. He didn’t want to risk spillage and he had a feeling he’d be a bit occupied in a few moments. Unless he was reading the signs wrong.

His record would point towards yes, but he was currently in a state of vicious denial.

“My first boyfriend was laconic to a degree that would have normally barred function in modern society,” Ludwig deadpanned. “He made me look garrulous by comparison. The only time he spoke up was when he and I both had a whiskey in our hands. That was suffering. Dark alcohols and I don’t mesh well.”

“Garrulous—oh my god, a doctor and a lexicographer. What are the odds!” Gilbert teased, laughing when Ludwig visibly tensed. He sensed an apology coming and quickly said, “Don’t! Don’t. I like knowing that you’re well-read. Doesn’t help much with the inferiority complex, but…”

Ludwig didn’t respond, and remained silent the rest of the way up the steps. He opened the door at the top before stepping out onto the roof. Gilbert followed him a moment later and stood still long enough for his eyes to adjust. The roof wasn’t all that large; a brick structure took up half, which probably housed some heating and cooling equipment or something, but the other half had a very small garden and several lawn chairs. Ludwig took a moment to brush them off with a broom that was resting against the brick section before motioning for Gilbert to sit, taking his own seat.

Gilbert carefully lowered himself into the wicker chair. The sky above was resplendent with light pollution. Only the moon and a few of the brighter stars were visible. Taller buildings on the city’s edge jutted up against the horizon, glowing fangs rending the sickly navy sky. Pinpricks of light in office windows usurped the constellations, but when Gilbert took off his glasses each one warped into a bursting star. Florescent fusion bombs.

“…Holy shit,” Gilbert said quietly, his motivations momentarily forgotten.

“Similar sentiments. Even though I’m jaded to it now,” Ludwig said, propping his elbows on his knees. “I grew up in the country so this used to drive me absolutely crazy, not being able to see the real stars.”

Gilbert managed to tug his eyes away from the scenery and slipped his glasses back on, glancing at Ludwig out of the corner of his eye. The other man had a pensive look on his face. If Gilbert knew him better he’d be able to place it exactly, but even with only a few interaction under his belt Ludwig was easy enough to read in terms of generalities.

Gilbert lightly nudged him in the thigh with his elbow. 

“What.”

Ludwig’s lips pulled down in a frown before, finally, he sighed.

“I don’t know you nearly well enough to delve into your psyche.”

Gilbert’s eyebrow crept towards his hairline.

“…It bothers me that this is how you introduce our next topic of conversation.”

“It’s nothing bad,” Ludwig said reassuringly. “It’s just – tonight, whenever you were talking about your work… the word ‘inferior’ came up. An awful lot.”

Gilbert jerked away at that, surprised.

“It did?” 

And Ludwig had somehow noticed this over the course of a two hour dinner?

Ludwig nodded slowly and folded his large hands in his lap.

“…You don’t seem to have a very high opinion of yourself,” he said quietly. “And I know, even if this were a date – or I guess especially if it were one – that would really be me overstepping my boundaries to point out. And I’m sorry I did, but I don’t. Get it. And I really hate when I don’t understand things or can’t piece things together. My mother buys me puzzles as gifts just to watch me lose my cool and try and shiv our Christmas tree with little cardboard pieces out of frustration and – and God I’m talking a lot. Sorry.”

Gilbert pursed his lips, torn between irritation and embarrassment. He hadn’t noticed he was being self-deprecating, but sometimes things like that took an outside perspective to notice…

“…What don’t you get, exactly? I’d rather not see you go nuts murdering shrubbery. Too early in the season for that.”

Ludwig shrugged and looked away.

“…You’re a surgeon,” he said, his voice slightly muffled. “And it’s obvious from how you talk about your interaction with most of your coworkers that they like you. Your friend Eliza sounds like she’s being a bit vindictive and your rancor towards that Roderich person makes it hard to judge, but you seem… popular.” He rubbed at his wrists and then mumbled, “And you’re. You have to know you’re attractive. You showed up to a fairly fancy restaurant in biker boots and everyone was too busy ogling you to say anything or be rude about it.”

“O-Ogling?” Gilbert said weakly, his heart stuttering in his chest. “…They were? Are you sure it’s not because of the whole albinism thing? And they weren’t biker boots, I don’t even know what those are. Probably got. Skulls and shit on them.”

“It wasn’t the whole albinism thing. Trust me,” Ludwig deadpanned, and Gilbert’s piranha of a mind latched onto the annoyance that colored Ludwig’s tone.

No fucking way.

He peered across the slight gap that separated them, his eyes wide. A little grin stole across his face, and it was probably the burst of caffeine mixing horribly with whatever beer was left in his system that made him lean over and lightly poke Ludwig’s arm.

“That possessive over a thank you dinner?” he teased. “That’s a little presumptuous of you.”

Ludwig hunched in on himself a bit and shied away from Gilbert. “It’s not that,” he muttered. “It was more – they kept. They were being really obnoxious and obvious about it. And I was worried you’d notice and feel self-conscious and not have as good of a time as you could. That’s… that’s it. I promise.” He lifted his head slightly and glanced at Gilbert.

“I’m not – weird,” he said weakly. “I promise. It was just…” He fumbled for words for a moment and then elected for taciturn silence. Gilbert waited as patiently as he could but curiosity and excitement were eating him alive. He was going to throw up. He was going to throw up all over this near-stranger’s roof like a kid on a god-damn tilt-a-whirl . 

He reached out to lightly tug on Ludwig’s arm, and when the other man turned to face him again he said earnestly, “I don’t think you’re weird. Or, well.” He cleared his throat. “You are. But it’s a good kind! Trust me, I wouldn’t have voluntarily come to this crazy isolated place with a near stranger if I thought you were the sort of weird that would cut off my head and keep it in your freezer as a trophy. But you’re not.” He paused. “…there’s a ninety nine percent chance you’re not.”

Ludwig laughed weakly and offered Gilbert a tiny smile.

“It’s the hair, isn’t it?” he said. “My coworkers tell me that I look like a villain from a period drama.”

“It does scream 40s gangster, yeah,” Gilbert laughed, relaxing again. He lightly punched Ludwig’s arm. “And why are you so stuttery? This is supposed to be fun, right? Relax. Breathe. If I end up being a murderer you can push me off the roof. Easy enough accident to explain away. And if you turn out to be a psychopathic killer, well.” He grinned. “Track star in high school. I’m sure I can outrun a man with five pounds of sugar water in his stomach.”

“Somehow I have trouble picturing you running farther than the distance to the fridge,” Ludwig said, leaning back in his chair to dodge a punch from Gilbert. He raised an eyebrow, a small smile on his face. “And this is fun, don’t worry. It’s just… not the sort of fun I’m used to.”

“How so?” Gilbert asked, giving up on his retaliation for the moment.

The blonde hummed, his eyebrows furrowing in thought.

“I mostly hang around politicians,” he finally said. “They’re. Dry. To put it lightly. And most of them are a good deal older than me – oh!” He pressed a hand against his face and groaned quietly. “I don’t even know how old you are.”

“Thirty in a few weeks,” Gilbert supplied, raising an eyebrow. “You?”

“Same in four months or so,” Ludwig said relaxing. “Thank god. With the white hair it’s really hard to tell.”

He laughed when Gilbert swiped at him again, and the ease of the noise made Gilbert’s stomach clench. “Shut up,” he muttered, feeling himself blush. The misanthropic part of his brain was hissing that he shouldn’t be this relaxed around a complete stranger; he should find it more difficult to open up because that’s what not-dead or not-in-horrible-relationships people did. They were chary, cautious, and that tended to help avoid revealing too much too fast like a teenage girl with a brand new Facebook account. 

But Ludwig was very weird. And Gilbert wasn’t sure if it was the man himself or the way he was building him up in his mind that was the cause for the weirdness. And as he sat there falling into a brood of drunken owl thoughts he found he didn’t mind. The risk was worth it. The lack of investment helped – they had mere hours of relationship to stand on and if Ludwig found his distaste for pickles a deal breaker there wasn’t a lot to lose, which was a huge relief. Enough to make Gilbert relax and drunk punch his eremitic side to the curb.

He must have been silent for a while, because when Ludwig hesitantly ventured, “Sorry, low blow?” 

Gilbert nearly jumped. 

“What?”

Ludwig gave him an inscrutable look before saying, “Usually guys that look like you are fragile when it comes to their appearance, but twenty seconds of silence is a bit much to mourn your ego…”

That made Gilbert bristle a bit, nervous flutterings shoved into a pool of carbonite.

“That look like me?” he echoed, raising an eyebrow. “How many people do you know that look like me?”

Ludwig stared at him, perplexed, before his blue eyes widened and he stammered, “N-Not the albino – albinism thing! I meant attractive people!” He gestured hopelessly. “I was a nerd in high school – I only ever watched guys like you from afar.” He winced. “…Like a perverted stalker. I’m not really helping my case here am I. Although I guess you probably get why I’m so. Flaky. Right now.” He ran his fingers through his hair, the gel breaking apart easily. 

“My boyfriends always said I had self esteem. Whatever. Issues,” he muttered, “And that I put them up on pedestals. I guess it’s a habit of mine to do that with guys I find attractive, so. Sorry for. Pedastaling you after only a few hours. I honest to God tried to play it cool for as long as possible but my chess club president side can stay dormant only so long before it starts trying to sabotage me.”

Gilbert’s whole face slowly turned to magma. He had to look away, thanking God that it was dark enough that even his obvious blush would be hidden. 

He fiddled with his empty coffee cup and then said as lightly as he could, “I don’t really mind being pedastaled. Er. Put. Up on one.” His lips twitched up in a smile. “It’s been a really long time since someone pedastaled me. Not since high school, I think. And I mean it’s different being pedastaled by people you think aren’t all that great or who are just sucking up to you but when it’s someone interesting that’s pedastaling –”

He stopped and cringed.

“Nope. Hating that word, starting over.”

Ludwig laughed and shook his head.

“It was doomed from the start. I failed Rhetoric 101.”

“The class that they make all the losers take?! You failed that?!” Gilbert laughed, kicking lightly at Ludwig’s chair. “Well that explains a hell of a lot! Too busy oogling the hot guys to bother learning how to write. Did you think cavemen speech would impress them?”

“Well it worked for a while,” Ludwig protested. “After school when I started working out all I really had to do was flex and then – and then here’s where you make a gay sauna joke.”

Gilbert groaned and stuck out his tongue before laughing again, his eyes crinkling shut.

“That would be a cheap shot even for me,” he teased. “You may not know this, considering we’re three hours into our relationship, but I have an alarmingly high moral compass. It’s why I usually dress so slovenly outside of work. I’m like one of those Buddhist ascetics that wanders up into a mountain and isn’t heard of for five years until he stumbles back down into civilization with a gang of adopted otters nesting in his hair.”

There was a quiet squeak of wicker as Ludwig’s weight shifted. The lights of the city blacked out, and then came the millisecond of realization. Of remembering tens of episodes of the crappy sitcoms Eliza used to make him watch and that he used to pretend to hate. Of rooftops and coffee after eleven at night.

Gilbert’s eyes widened against the black.

“Oh fuck,” he whispered, and then Ludwig’s lips pressed against his.

It was hardly long enough to be called a kiss.

By the time Gilbert registered the sensation Ludwig had backpedaled, his face ashen.

“G-God… fuck, I’m so sorry,” he said in a rush, nearly falling over the chair as he retreated, his cheeks red and his eyes nearly bulging out of his head like a chameleon’s. “Fuck this was a mistake – I’m sorry, Gilbert, I really – I didn’t plan. I. I always plan these things except of course now after we just got done having a conversation about how I was a stalker in high school and am now moonlighting as a serial killer with heads in freezers.”

Gilbert blinked slowly, his lips still tingling from the touch. He licked them instinctively to get them to stop and watched Ludwig pace around his self-imposed meter-by-meter cage of concrete flooring. The man was babbling something and kept casting guilty, terrified glances his way. He was flustered, talking as though his head were made of kerosene and his lips were matchbook strikers. Every word an aborted stutter. And Gilbert’s brain was a jumble of poetic nonsense that made him want to lobotomize himself.

And that kiss was way too short. 

Gilbert pushed himself up and crossed the few feet of space that separated them. He grabbed Ludwig’s sleeve, scared that if he touched the man directly Ludwig would start like a frightened deer and go bounding over the edge of the roof.

“Sit.”

Ludwig blinked.

“I—what.”

Gilbert jerked his head towards the chair. Ludwig followed the motion and carefully sat down like a kid in Catholic school with a black and white ruler on its way.

Gilbert shifted to sit down as well, straddling the chair. He rested his hand on Ludwig’s chest and lifted his gaze to meet Ludwig’s. The blonde still looked terrified, his blue eyes wide and desperately seeking a way out. Not out of fear for himself, but of the situation. Unfamiliar territory.

Gilbert could feel his heart beating.

It was so fucking bizarre. He could reach underneath Ludwig’s shirt and take his heart in his hands and squish it between his fingers it was that close. Play-Doh like. Temple of Doom.

Astonishingly lovely how frail it felt.

He fisted his hands in Ludwig’s ridiculous, gel-crunchy hair, and mumbled, “I taste like coffee, don’t throw up,” before crushing his lips against the blonde’s.

The sickly sweetness of Ludwig’s bastardized coffee was the first thing to hit him. It pooled in the little hollow of his tongue, spilling down his throat every time Ludwig’s tongue grazed against his. He heard noises of protest through the heat – Ludwig’s soft whines – and he shushed them with a gentle yank of Ludwig’s hair. It earned him a heady groan, and then Ludwig’s hands were on his hips, his clumsy, thick fingers digging painfully against the bones.

It wasn’t even a date.

The giddy thought flashed across Gilbert’s mind, and he laughed against Ludwig’s lips. The other man pulled away, his breathing fragile. Gilbert heard a question forming and before the moment could be broken to unease and self-condemnation he pressed his lips against Ludwig’s again.

This time there was no hesitation. Ludwig’s tongue laved against his lips, insisting on each new movement rather than extending a formal invitation. The velvety muscle ran over his teeth, his tongue. Ludwig’s hands moved to the small of his back, the slight swell of his ass. It took all Gilbert had to match Ludwig, his knees wobbling like he’d just looked down from the top of a skyscraper. 

A primitive nerve struck a flint in his stomach as his chest brushed Ludwig’s. God it was so flat. So weird to have nothing else there to hold on to. There was just a slight curve of the pectoral, heart sprinting underneath. 

Ludwig’s fingers tightened like a vice against his skin, and Gilbert felt him moan. It was enough to make him forget that he’d never done this before while sober enough to build a memory of the event. With Eliza it had taken years. Prep squad speeches in front of the mirror, wiping sweaty hands against the sofa. Painful clearings of his throat. It had been the hardest thing in his life to close that gap, and the knife in his stomach twisted deep when she’d laughed.

Ludwig, he noted as he broke the kiss, licking his lips to break a string of saliva. 

Ludwig wasn’t laughing.

He stared down at the other man, chest pressing against Ludwig’s with every rise as he caught his breath. Ludwig’s eyes were animalistic black, hyper trained on every movement. Gilbert cautiously raised a hand, pressing it against Ludwig’s cheek. When Ludwig leaned into the touch, Gilbert made a pathetic warbling noise, unsure how to handle such a saccharine exchange. Ludwig’s face was so close and his gaze was intense, curious, and all Gilbert could do was mumble, “I’m breathing on you. But I don’t know how to remedy that.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Ludwig said quietly. “Your tongue was just in my mouth. I think we’re past the point of halitosis concerns.”

Gilbert gave a feeble excuse for a laugh and slowly lowered himself down until he was sitting on Ludwig’s thighs. His intestines were still little kabobs of lust, and with a jolt of embarrassment he realized the outward guise of his dumbass metaphor.

“Oh fuck,” he whimpered, pulling away from Ludwig just enough so the man hopefully wouldn’t notice. He didn’t get very far. Ludwig’s hands were still on his ass, his fingers had to be getting crushed but he didn’t seem to care.

Instead he made a quiet noise, and all but begged.

“Don’t. Please.”

Gilbert gave up trying to retreat, his face hot with embarrassment when Ludwig shifted and felt him. Had to feel him, he couldn’t exactly hide.

Gilbert ducked his head, ready to blurt out a teenaged level apology when something soft nuzzled his ear. A moment later Ludwig’s voice made the drum in his head beat louder.

“Downstairs?”

The single word was enough to make Gilbert’s entire body tremble. He gave a quick nod and stood automatically, his fingers still fisted in Ludwig’s shirt.

He cleared his throat.

“Polite of you to not mention the whole boner situation. Bit awkward after point two seconds of making out.”

“I figured it would either be directly addressed very soon or you’d be in a taxi in two minutes,” Ludwig said, standing up as well. He tilted his head to the side, his eyes fixed on Gilbert’s face. There was zero trace of the flustered man from before in his expression, and Gilbert was bitterly reminded how unfair life was when doling out personality quirks. But then Ludwig smirked and leaned down to murmur in his ear, “Do I need to call a taxi?” as his thumb subtly brushed over his thigh. Gilbert let out a bastard swear, his stomach rolling like the sea in a Hemmingway novel. He immediately twisted the hands on his moral compass until they surrendered.

“No taxi.”

He thudded down the wooden stairs, hastily undoing the top few buttons on his shirt because holy shit what was the point in even pretending to be coy anymore, Ludwig had felt his goddamn cock through his pants. That was the end of any hope for doing this with Disney-level tact or dignity, and Gilbert found himself hard-pressed to care. The amiable laughter that propelled him forward carved a deep scratch in the record Eliza had left behind. He placed the marred thing in a corner for later appraisal, and then unceremoniously shut the door.

Fuck it.

He deserved nicer laughter anyway.


	6. SIX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who thought this was going to be a direct continuation, all I can say is
> 
> Have you read any of my stuff. You should have known that was a pipe dream (I'm too much of a weenie to write anything above pg-13 orz)
> 
> Enjoy.

There was one thread out of place in the pillowcase stitching.

Gilbert had caught Ludwig looking at it right in the middle of things. He’d nearly lost it laughing, the man looked so perturbed by a single thread. He’d asked, praying to god that Ludwig would say no, if he needed to go get a seam ripper to deal with the problem. Ludwig had looked suitably flustered but just grabbed his arms and growled at him to keep going or that seam ripper was going to be put to a very different use. The empty threat had made Gilbert laugh again, but then Ludwig did something with his legs that made Gilbert suffer temporary aphasia and he forgot about most everything else. 

Three rounds was a lot for him. One more than two.

Gilbert stared at the little string, watching it slowly wave about in the drafts like dark blue seaweed. The sun had barely risen, and the thread was the only thing in focus with his near-sighted eyes. His glasses were on the other side of the room. Somewhere.

He carefully tracked the movement, listening to the sounds of an unfamiliar neighborhood at dawn. There were cats in Ludwig’s neighborhood. He knew because the man had woken him up last night when he went to go curse them out as they yowled in heat. It had been a bizarre and terrifying few seconds before Gilbert remembered where he was. He’d finally drifted back into an uneasy unconsciousness. He wasn’t used to sleeping in new places. Even when he traveled he took his pillow with him. Pillows were important. People drooled or coughed or sneezed and no one thought about how disgusting it all was until they had to change the linens in a hospital.

Ludwig’s sheets were clean. Unsurprising but welcome.

Gilbert ran his hand down the mattress, pausing when his fingers nearly touched the other heat source. Ludwig was still asleep, his back to him. Gilbert’s fingers twitched with indecision before retreat was decided upon. It was difficult to be brave when it was light out and you were naked and disoriented.

A loud thudding sound nearly scared him out of bed, and it took him a few seconds to register the noise as a phone vibrating. The lump that was Ludwig groaned and stirred, and a moment later a large hand reached out, fumbling on the side table before finding its prey. The phone was brutally silenced.

Gilbert closed his eyes when Ludwig started to sit up, automatically feigning sleep because that was easier than starting conversation. He heard the man crack his back, felt the mattress dip as his weight shifted, and then movement ceased.

There was only the sound of Ludwig breathing, and it was barely a sound at all, the guy functioned like a spy. Even when he’d been sleeping he hadn’t twitched a muscle and was nearly silent. ‘Assistant to the ambassador’ his ass. The guy was probably in some sort of covert ops.

Gilbert waited on nervous pins for Ludwig to either get up or go back to bed. The stillness dragged on long enough that he was starting to get antsy, but just when he was ready to throw in the towel and pretend to wake up, he felt a gentle touch to his forehead. Brushing his hair out of his eyes.

He tensed involuntarily at the unexpected contact, and a moment later Ludwig said in a dark, sleepy voice, “Oh, you’re awake?”

He didn’t sound embarrassed enough.

Gilbert cracked open an eye, wanting to scowl and feel a bit put out because you didn’t tenderly brush someone’s hair off their forehead after sleeping with them on the first not even a date. But that was a difficult expression to pull off when you were nervous and tired and in an unfamiliar room. And also legally blind without glasses.

He slowly pushed himself up, letting the covers pool in his lap to cover the more delicate parts of his nudity. He offered Ludwig a tired smile in his direction, although really the man was just a fleshy colored lump, and then croaked out, “Glasses?”

“Huh? Oh – right.”

There came a flurry of movement and a moment later the bed creaked again as Ludwig sat down. Gilbert blinked in surprise as his glasses were slid onto his face, and then Ludwig came into focus. His hair was standing up like an eighties rock star’s – which wasn’t a compliment – but his expression was pleased, albeit exhausted.

He was also sporting two imprints of Gilbert’s teeth on his neck.

Gilbert quickly averted his gaze, embarrassment creeping up on him again. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Ludwig tilt his head to the side.

“…Good morning?” the blonde ventured, sounding a bit timid.

“Huh? Oh!”

Gilbert rubbed the back of his neck, his lips quirking up in a self-conscious smile.

“Yeah. Morning.” 

He laughed and folded his hands in his lap so he wouldn’t fiddle with anything and accidentally flash Ludwig. Cock in ass at night was one thing. Cock not doing much in daylight… completely different kind of intimacy.

“Sorry. Not… much experience in this area,” he admitted. “Obviously…”

Ludwig visibly relaxed and gave him a disarming smile.

“We can be awkward together. And later hyperbolize the other’s inadequacy for blackmail purposes.”

Gilbert laughed again, Ludwig’s easy manner decapitating some of the supererogatory butterflies in his stomach.

“Well I’m pretty sure easy banter and forehead touches aren’t up to code,” he teased, stretching his back and grunting when it failed to pop. Painful. “You should be acting more ashamed. Lots of blushing, running around tugging clothes on, awkwardly offering me breakfast foods you don’t intend to cook…”

Ludwig raised an eyebrow as he leaned against the headboard, seeming not to mind that he was flashing more than a bit of ballsack. Guy either had confidence or was completely oblivious. He hummed in thought and then glanced at Gilbert again.

“So waffles?” he guessed, his blue eyes crinkling in the corners as he smiled. “You seem like a waffles type person. With insane amounts of whipped cream.”

“There is absolutely no such thing as an insane amount of beaten dairy product,” Gilbert said firmly, his stomach sloshing about with happiness. “There is only ‘too little’ and ‘sufficient.’ Most people unfortunately err on the side of the former.”

“And you hounded me for my seven teaspoons of sugar last night,” Ludwig laughed, reaching over the side of the bed to grab something. He stood up, tugging his boxers on, which left Gilbert feeling even more naked. He glanced around the room, trying to spot his discarded clothes amongst all the neatness. Fuck where had they ended up? He vaguely remembered throwing his shirt down the stairs…

He did his best to peer over the edge of the bed, but the covers began to slip and he wasn’t ballsy enough to go full Monty in broad daylight in front of a near-stranger. Pun most shamefully intended.

When looking around the room like an invested seagull panned out to exactly zero, Gilbert cleared his throat and said awkwardly, “I uh… clothes? Are they somewhere?”

Ludwig had the decency to flush. He nodded. “I’ll look.”

He got down on his hands and knees, rummaging around underneath the bed. He threw a pair of khakis behind him, followed by Gilbert’s pants and boxers a moment later. Gilbert let out a groan of relief and was about to slide off the bed to retrieve them when Ludwig sat up, his whole face red.

“You’re not going to want to wear those,” he said quickly, gathering up the laundry and heading out the door. “I’m going to throw these into the machine.”

“What – wait! Why?” Gilbert said, watching forlornly as his pants were taken from him. Ludwig cleared his throat and then said haltingly, “Remember uh. The hallway?”

Gilbert blinked but then his eyes widened. Oh right. Time number one. Where they’d just rutted like desperate teenagers.

He let out a weak groan and slowly lay backwards, rolling over to try and suffocate himself against the dark blue pillows.

“God – you don’t have to do my laundry,” he mumbled, humiliated beyond belief as memories gaily flocked around the portion of his brain that housed his dignity, depleting it with every recalled groan and plea from the night before.

“I don’t mind,” Ludwig’s soft voice drifted over, the pillow muffling it. “It’s… well, it’s kind of my fault. I did pin you…”

He trailed off and an uncomfortable silence settled over the room while Gilbert tried to devise a way to commit hara-kiri with the mattress tag he could feel with his big toe. There came a rustling noise from somewhere in the room, and a moment later a soft cloth touched his bare back.

“We’re not that different in size,” Ludwig mumbled. “Here. Just – take these. If you want a shower… I, um. There’s towels. In there. I just changed them yesterday. I’ll go take care of this stuff and then get started on breakfast.”

“Okay,” Gilbert mumbled, the air in his pillow so stale he could feel himself getting light headed. Or was that just the saccharine cloy of Ludwig’s domesticity act.

He tensed as a large hand timidly patted his head, but before he could roll over and apologize for being a complete stooge Ludwig’s footsteps had already slunk out of the room.

Spy. Who tiptoed around like that when they lived alone.

Gilbert carefully sat up, grabbing the clothes before they fell. He examined them. Boxer briefs, black. Sweatpants, gray. Tank top, black. He checked the size of the pants and snorted, muttering, “Roughly same size my ass…” Which was probably going to be exposed the second he tried to wear the sweatpants. They didn’t even have a drawstring.

With a little sigh Gilbert pushed himself out of bed, holding the shirt and boxer briefs in front of him like a little shield as he tentatively poked his head out of the room. The house was silent.

He scuttled across the hallway into the bathroom, wincing when he caught sight of his reflection. Ludwig knew how to use his teeth. Or all the hickies were unintentional and he was actually part rodent.

After a bit of fiddling with the shower he got the temperature down from scalding and hopped in. His legs were a bit… sticky. He quickly scrubbed at the stuff with his nails, trying not to think too hard about it. Ludwig’s shampoo was, thankfully, a normal brand and not something crazy expensive, so Gilbert felt no guilt dumping some on his head and scrubbing away.

Ten minutes later he emerged feeling more alive, but no less disoriented. The feeling tripled when he dried himself off with an unfamiliar towel and stepped into boxer briefs that were not his own. They were a little tight in the front (that much he remembered) but at least they weren’t falling down. The tank top did little to help alleviate his feelings of being completely naked, but he wasn’t about to go ask Ludwig for more clothes.

He straightened up the bathroom as best he could and then made his way downstairs, feeling more than a little nervous. The sound of cabinets opening and shutting reverberate throughout the house, and Gilbert paused on the landing, peering through the banisters into the little bit of the kitchen he could see. A warm smell drifted up through the hallway, nostalgic and comforting.

Footsteps approached the stairs and Gilbert quickly scrambled backwards, trying to make it look as though he hadn’t just been spying on Ludwig like a complete weirdo.

He stood up a moment too late.

Ludwig paused at the bottom of the steps and silently observed his flailing for a moment before he said neutrally, “Do you want to help me make breakfast? I thought it might be less awkward than if I just served you.”

“S-Sure,” Gilbert stammered, fiddling with the shirt. He noticed Ludwig’s eyes drifting lower and he said quickly, “Pants didn’t fit. Figured you were already acquainted enough with my anatomy that modesty wouldn’t really be an issue.”

“What – oh. Yes, I don’t mind,” Ludwig said, turning around, but not before Gilbert caught sight of a faint dusting of pink on his cheeks. “They just look a little small on you. But as long as you’re comfortable.”

“They’re fine,” Gilbert said weakly, his face turning red as well. God it was like a disease.

He followed Ludwig downstairs and into the kitchen, where he paused. There was a fancy waffle maker on the counter. The kind you found in expensive restaurants that served brunch and called smoked salmon lox and gave you weird looks if you asked for chocolate chips in pancakes. On the island in the middle were bowls of various fruits, and Ludwig was in the middle of whipping up omelets.

Gilbert gave a low, appreciative whistle.

“Jesus – how many people are you feeding? Is this a loaves and fishes situation?”

“Irreverent Testament reference aside, no, no sermon on the mount,” Ludwig said in amusement, turning back to the stove. “I take breakfast seriously, that’s all.”

“No shit,” Gilbert said, staring at the bowls of fruit. He recognized about half of the varieties of berries in there.

He watched Ludwig dice tomatoes and onions and then said uncomfortably, “So… what can I do, exactly? I don’t want to throw off your chef’s groove.”

“Get out the plates and cups,” Ludwig instructed, not looking up from the cutting board. “And could you start the coffee?”

Gilbert nodded and began his search for plates. He had to open five different cabinets before he finally found them. He set the table and then did his best to locate the coffee. After a few minutes of his pawing around Ludwig’s kitchen and trying to keep from feeling awkward, Ludwig spoke up, his eyes still fixated on the frying pan. 

“Coffee’s where it’s always been.”

Gilbert paused and gave Ludwig an odd look. What the hell.

“…That means nothing to me,” he said slowly.

He saw Ludwig tense and then the man turned and stared at him in surprise before he said, “Above the stove. Sorry.”

“…It’s fine,” Gilbert said, not really wanting to get into whatever that had been. He retrieved the coffee and after several minutes of fiddling with the fancy machine managed to get it going. Tasks completed he leaned against the counter to watch Ludwig work, the earlier comment bothering him. It was obvious Ludwig had forgotten who he was. Which both begged and answered the question. He was going to ask it anyway.

“Did your ex live with you? I mean – before he was your ex, obviously.” 

Ludwig started so badly he nearly flipped the pan, and it took him a moment to get everything under control. He plated the omelets, his expression stony, before finally he nodded.

“We were engaged, so. Yes. He did,” he said tersely. “Please move away from the counter. I need to put this in the sink.”

Gilbert held up his hands and quickly retreated. Yikes. Touchy.

He let Ludwig clean up, not wanting to step on any more landmines. Guy was terrifying when he was angry. Or even mildly perturbed. The coffee machine beeped pleasantly, and Gilbert thanked God for the distraction. He poured himself and Ludwig a cup of coffee and sat down at the table, sipping at his as he silently watched Ludwig finish getting everything together.

When the spread was finally ready, it took every bit of restraint he possessed to keep from grabbing things like a desperate ape. The waffles especially called to him, and the moment Ludwig’s ass touched the chair and he said, “Thanks for waiting,” two waffles were already on Gilbert’s plate.

“No problem,” Gilbert said cheerfully, dusting everything with powdered sugar. He gave Ludwig a grin and nudged his leg under the table, trying to wipe the pensive look from the other man’s face. “Thanks for cooking. Really this is – Chez Ludwig is clearly five star treatment. I’ll be booking a stay again.”

Ludwig chuckled quietly at that, his features relaxing. He took some of the omelet, murmuring, “It’s the least I could do,” before starting to eat. A much more comfortable silence fell over the room, and Gilbert let his guard down a bit more. Ex fiancé. Prickly subject, clearly, but easily avoided, even though he was brimming with curiosity.

He demolished the waffles on his plate, a little moan leaving him despite his best efforts not to act like a freak over food.

“Fuck – these are incredibly good,” he said passionately. “Where the hell did you learn to cook like this?”

Ludwig’s fork stilled for a moment, a bitter smile creeping over his face.

Gilbert mentally sighed. Well. Shit. So much for it being an easily avoided subject.

“He was a chef,” Ludwig said simply, resuming eating. “The iron’s his, actually. I meant to return it months ago when he first left, but… I’m sure you know how hard it is to let go of things.”

“Yeah… sort of,” Gilbert said awkwardly, fiddling with his fork. He eyed Ludwig, his curiosity bug still not satisfied. Although it was growing darker in color and the questions coming to mind were slightly bitter, even for his taste.

He speared a strawberry and then asked as normally as he could, “So just to check, last night wasn’t just some… revenge plot, right? Pictures of me aren’t going to end up on the internet with ‘in your face Ludwig’s ex’ captioned underneath, are they?”

He could practically feel Ludwig’s surprise. The other man’s eyes widened and he blurted out a horrified, “Good God no,” so quickly that Gilbert believed him in an instant.

Ludwig shook his head again and said earnestly, “Francis is – was. Complicated. But it’s been half a year and I’m not the type to exact petty revenge.” He paused, his ears growing red before he mumbled, “Well, nothing meaner than keeping a few of his culinary items, that is.”

Gilbert laughed and leaned back in his chair, glad Ludwig didn’t look as upset as he had a few moments ago. 

“So it’s been half a year since you guys broke it off?” he asked casually, a few bits of conversation from the previous night floating up. “Because… well last night, you… implied that it had been a bit… longer than that… with other things…”

Ludwig folded his hands atop the table, his downturned eyes narrowing slightly before he sighed.

“One of the signs, actually. That things were failing…”

“Shit,” Gilbert said sympathetically, unsure how else to respond. His only ex was Eliza. And she barely counted. Nowhere near ‘fiancée’ level.

Ludwig shrugged and prodded at a few pieces of onion still left on his plate.

“It was for the best, I think,” he said calmly. “He was a bit too… free of a spirit for me in the end. The engagement was his idea but I think he started to regret it the moment I began asking about venues.”

“Ah… really,” Gilbert said slowly, a bit wary of where the conversation was going. It wasn’t one he could exactly participate in, and fuck, he still barely knew Ludwig. He wasn’t ready to play therapist to the guy.

Ludwig nodded and lifted his head, a very small smile on his face.

“So on a scale from one to ten, how would you rate my ability to completely kill a mood?” he asked lightly, taking a waffle for himself. Gilbert laughed and ran his fingers through his damp hair, relieved.

“Solid eight. You must have practice.”

“Spades,” Ludwig deadpanned, meticulously cutting up his waffle. He nudged the omelet plate towards Gilbert, murmuring, “You should eat some protein.”

“Oh my god,” Gilbert said, finding himself grinning once more. “You could not be more obnoxious right now. I love it.”

Ludwig gave him a bizarre look but then laughed quietly and inched the omelet plate towards Gilbert. “I’m just concerned because last night you seemed to have difficulty with certain maneuvers.”

“Hey, I had difficulty because even though I work out more than is probably healthy for my body type I could barely keep your heavy ass up,” Gilbert said, pointing his fork accusingly at Ludwig before spearing an omelet. 

“Yes, I vividly remember your complaints,” Ludwig murmured into his cup of coffee, laughing when Gilbert scowled and kicked him in the shins.

“That better not be all you remember from last night,” Gilbert threatened, wiggling his fork around. “It’s fucking unfair if I’m the only one burdened with certain memories. Like you nearly crushing me.”

“It was an accident and I apologized far more than necessary,” Ludwig said, raising an eyebrow. “And your windpipe was fine.” A little smirk tugged at his lips. “It was working a few seconds later, at any rate. I’m amazed the neighbors didn’t knock on the door to see who was being murdered.”

“Ha ha Gilbert’s loud during sex, what an absolute lark,” Gilbert mumbled, dissecting his omelet to try and give his brain something to focus on.

“I didn’t say I minded,” Ludwig said mildly, stealing a piece of omelet off of Gilbert’s plate and receiving a light tap with a fork for his trouble. “You’re far more self-conscious than you need to be, Doctor.”

“Well someone’s gotta keep my ego in check. May as well be my brain, dredging up every stupid thing I said or… yelled, I guess,” Gilbert mumbled, polishing off his omelet before Ludwig could steal any more. He let out a little ‘woff’ noise as he sat back, rubbing his stomach.

“You must be in the habit of feeding herptiles. I probably won’t need to eat for a month.”

“Good,” Ludwig said, standing up and starting to gather the dishes.

“Ah – let me help you,” Gilbert said quickly, grabbing his plate and a few of the bowls of berries. When Ludwig opened his mouth to protest Gilbert just grinned and said firmly, “Rule I’ve always followed is whoever cooked doesn’t have to clean. Sit down.”

Ludwig arched a brow but obediently sat. Gilbert patted his head as he passed, laughing when Ludwig swiped at him.

As he washed the dishes he snuck glances of Ludwig every now and then. He was still sitting at the table, sipping his coffee, and Gilbert had to bite his cheek to keep from laughing when he caught Ludwig sneaking more and more spoonfuls of sugar into the drink.

“You should just melt a bunch of coffee ice cream and drink that instead,” he teased, setting aside the last dish.

“Would you think me a lesser man if I admit to having done just that?” Ludwig sighed, propping his elbows on the table. “Everyone in meetings drinks this swill all the time. I have to, to save face, but God at what cost…”

Gilbert just snorted and sat back down, propping his elbows on the table. He flicked a sugar cube in Ludwig’s direction, an absent smile on his face.

“Make up some bullshit study about how coffee decreases their virility. That might even be a real thing. Watch them slowly check their gonads and then abandon coffee all together.”

“If I had that much clout, believe me, I would,” Ludwig grumbled, draining the last of his coffee. The gentle ‘thunk’ of porcelain meeting wood made a little smile cross Gilbert’s face. It was such a domestic sound. Calming.

He reached out to tap the side of Ludwig’s mug with his fingernail, wrestling with what to say. If he even wanted to break the comfortable silence between them. But the clock was ticking and the nervous perfectionist in him needed to have a firm plan. He was trapped while his clothes were being cleaned, but that would only be another ten minutes or so. Then the pressure would start. Stay. Go. Awkwardly propose another date. Timidly ask for a label, for some sort of sign post, a vague star chart, anything to pin down what, exactly they were.

If anything at all.

Gilbert licked his lips, his hands shaking a bit with nerves.

“So was last night – I mean… was that a onetime thing?” he cautiously hedged, lifting his head a bit.

Ludwig blinked, surprised, and then hummed in thought.

“…I don’t know,” he finally admitted, tapping his thick fingers on the tabletop in a restless pattern. “It caught me off guard – everything about you did. Honestly.” He cleared his throat and looked away. “But I’m not sure. Some things just happen organically and I’m not sure if… if it would happen like that again.”

Gilbert felt his whole body go cold. Ludwig was being equivocal as hell, but reading between the lines made it fairly obvious.

“So if I asked you out on a date – a real one, I mean, you’d say…”

Ludwig scrubbed at his face and then fixed Gilbert with a tired expression.

“As friends? Absolutely yes,” he said, his smile not reaching his eyes. “As friends who fuck, even… if it happened again I wouldn’t… mind.”

Gilbert narrowed his eyes, the evasive language starting to irritate him a bit. 

“But not as boyfriends,” he said bluntly.

Ludwig flinched very slight but then shook his head.

“I’m not… really looking for anything long term right now,” he said, pouring himself another cup of coffee and, forgoing appearances, just dumped the rest of the sugar bowl in his mug. “I know it’s been a while, but I’m not interested in dating yet. To be blunt.” He gave Gilbert an apologetic look. “I’m not sure if that’s what you wanted to hear, but I see no merit in keeping you on a hook if you were interested in dating.”

Gilbert felt his stomach sink, but he nodded slowly. Ludwig had been upfront. That was. Something. Good, probably.

His lips twitched up in an empty smile and he shrugged.

“Appreciate your honesty if nothing else,” he said, propping his chin in his hands. “And your cooking. And whatever the hell contortionist act you pulled last night so – I mean. If you’re not interested in dating then… that other thing you suggested.” He lifted his head, hoping his expression was only mildly hopeful and not as fucking desperate as he felt. “Friends? Who maybe sometimes do naked stuff together? Is that still on the table?”

Ludwig groaned, but it dissolved into a weak laugh. He rubbed the back of his neck, his fine hair falling into his eyes a bit.

“Yeah, I guess so,” he said finally. “I mean you’re – uh. I’m probably repeating myself from last night but you’re very. Hot. And pretty considerate and sweet, so.” He winced. “I feel like a jackass for wanting to monopolize that without dating or even being firmly exclusive…”

“Go with your instincts. Be a jackass,” Gilbert said encouragingly, the sick feeling in his stomach abating slightly, even though… fuck. Was this going to be another Eliza situation with him hanging his emotions out to dry and the other person shitting all over them? He wasn’t sure he could handle it again, but at least Ludwig would be easy to avoid if things got sour.

Ludwig laughed again and then nodded.

“All right, then. If you’re sure you don’t mind… I’m. I still do feel horribly, though.” Ludwig gave him a guilty look. “This probably wasn’t what you had in mind… and I can tell you’re a little disappointed. All I can say is I’m sorry and I really am trying to be honest. My friends tell me that my honesty tends to come off as a bit sadistic, though, so… I promise I’m not intentionally being an asshole.”

“Twenty-four hours ago all I had in mind was that a hot ambassador’s assistant wanted to take me out to dinner. That was where all thought began and ended, so I think I’m still doing pretty well for myself,” Gilbert said cheerfully, trying to remind himself of that fact. His affected enthusiasm obviously didn’t reach his eyes, though, because Ludwig continued to look like a dog that had just pissed on the rug. He let out a little sigh and then stood, walking over to the counter. He returned with a piece of paper and a pen, and after scribbling down a few numbers passed the paper to Gilbert.

“I’m aware my timing on this is horrible, but would you mind giving me your cell phone and email?” he asked politely. 

“Wha—yeah, sure,” Gilbert said, bemused. He quickly wrote his information down, taking Ludwig’s for himself. He fiddled with the piece of paper, having nowhere to put it besides shoving it in his underwear. 

“So I’m not supposed to take this as a premonition of… shit, what do the kids call them. ‘Booty calls’?” he deadpanned, staring expectantly at Ludwig.

Ludwig snorted and muttered, “God, no. No. Just – in case you wanted to get dinner. Also since I’ll be out of the country for the new few weeks.”

“Wait – what?” Gilbert’s eyes widened and his heart gave a pathetic lurch. “Why? I – no, that’s a stupid question.”

“It’s not stupid – okay it is considering my job, but it’s for work,” Ludwig said quickly, making a soothing ‘hush hush’ motion with his hand. “I’m out of the country a lot, but usually not for long. This trip is to Belgium. Three weeks or so, which is the longest one I have to take this year.”

Gilbert slowly sat back down. When the hell had he even stood up. He said a weak ‘oh’ and then looked at the piece of paper again, humiliated by how nervous he suddenly was. Attachment issues. He was like a baby bird, imprinting on whatever… fucked… him.

Maybe not like a baby bird.

He cleared his throat and then said much more lightly, “Belgium. So the waffles were a hint, huh? Should I feel stupid for not picking up on it?”

“Yes, berate yourself for not being privy to my breakfast code,” Ludwig said, but his eyes were soft with concern. “I have an international plan, though, so… if you wanted to email me while I’m gone… I’d. Um. Be appreciative. Those meetings can get incredibly dull…”

“I can do that,” Gilbert promised. “Not while I’m at work, obviously, but…” He gave Ludwig a rather sheepish grin. “My life outside of work really isn’t anything to write home about. I’d be grateful for some distraction. And then maybe… not, uh, to be too forward, but maybe we could set up another outing? And yes, that is desperation in my voice you’re sensing, good work.”

Ludwig laughed and pressed his forehead against the table. 

“Sure,” he said, his voice muffled. “I’d be up for that.”

A loud buzzing noise made Ludwig lift his head.

“That’ll be your pants.”

He stood and headed out into the hallway, and after a bit of indecision Gilbert followed him.

“How long have you been waiting to whip out that one-liner all casual like?” he teased.

“Rehearsed it while you were in the shower,” Ludwig said, opening a pair of sliding doors to reveal a washer and dryer. “Had to get the inflection just right. Twenty percent disinterest, minimum.”

“Oscar quality, really. I’ll alert the Academy,” Gilbert deadpanned, ducking when Ludwig threw his pants at him. He laughed and picked up his clothes, shrugging off Ludwig’s tank top to pull his own shirt on. Ludwig held out his boxers towards him, rolling his eyes when Gilbert motioned with his finger for him to turn around.

“I thought we were dispensing with modesty,” Ludwig grumbled, holding the boxers out. 

Gilbert plucked them from the other man’s fingers and got changed, zipping up his pants and breathing a little sigh of relief. Better.

“That was before I knew your modesty was going to be high tailing it to Brussels for almost a month,” Gilbert grinned, plopping Ludwig’s clothes on his shoulder. “Thanks for these, though. And I mean this in the creepiest way possible when I say I like whatever fabric softener you use.”

Ludwig swiped the clothes out of Gilbert’s hands and let them fall into the washing machine.

“The kind with the bear. I only pay attention to the color of the bottle,” he admitted, closing the doors again.

Which left the two of them standing in the hallway, staring at one another.

Gilbert toyed with the slip of paper in his pocket, wondering absently where his phone had ended up. Probably with his shoes. That was good.

“So… do I leave now?” he asked hesitantly. “I’m still not totally sure how this works.”

“I don’t know either,” Ludwig admitted, crossing his arms. “On TV shows the visiting party usually sneaks out in disgrace.”

“Bit late for that,” Gilbert mumbled, glancing at the door. God, he didn’t really want to leave. Outside that door was an incredible amount of drama he didn’t want to deal with. Work. Sick kids. Blood and guts. Ludwig’s house was just warm smells and waffles and sex and classy tapestries and shit. 

Or maybe that was just Ludwig himself.

Whatever the reason the fact stayed the same.

He didn’t want to leave.

Gilbert worried at his lip for a moment and then glanced at Ludwig out of the corner of his eye.

“…What do you usually do on Sundays?”

Ludwig tilted his head to the side, obviously not understanding.

“…Go grocery shopping,” he said slowly. “Why?”

“Are you going today?”

Another pause, and then Ludwig nodded.

Gilbert cleared his throat and then said as neutrally as he could, “Would you mind if I came along? I… uh.” He rubbed the back of his neck, cursing softly. How to explain to the guy that the thought of returning to his real life made him feel physically ill.

“…You really want to come run errands with me?”

Gilbert caught the amused tinge to Ludwig’s voice, and he lifted his head, his eyes narrowed in a glare.

“Why’s that funny to you?”

“It’s not funny,” Ludwig said too quickly, obviously trying not to laugh. “I’m just surprised – one night stands don’t usually cumulate in ‘and then they bonded over couponing.’”

“Yeah, well for all you know I have a grandmother fetish and clipping coupons is the only way I get my rocks off,” Gilbert muttered. “This could be a sexy adventure for me.”

“Gilbert – God, you absolute nerd.”

Ludwig finally gave in and laughed, and just when Gilbert thought his self esteem couldn’t take another blow, Ludwig said fondly, “You can come on the condition that you help lug everything around. I’m not above using you for indentured labor. It’s not the activity I would have picked if I were in your shoes, but no. I don’t mind.”

Gilbert started in surprise and glanced up at Ludwig.

“Wait – you mean you wouldn’t mind if I just… hung around?” he asked hesitantly.

“Well no,” Ludwig said in bemusement, “I mean, honestly I’m a bit surprised you’re not wanting to leave. I can’t be that interesting without beer in your system.”

Gilbert fell silent, fighting off a stupid, happy smile. Maybe not dating, but God did Ludwig know exactly what to say. No wonder that Francis guy wanted to pin him down.

“You’d be surprised what I’ve been trained to put up with,” was all he said, laughing as Ludwig swiped at him. He easily dodged the grab, dancing out of the way as he teased, “Being here is marginally better than having sick children puking all over me. You should be proud of your personality!”

“You little asshole,” Ludwig growled, his blue eyes shining with amusement. “After I made you breakfast. I guess you want to go to the hardware store too, huh? And pick up my prescriptions? Maybe I should just make you be an errand boy all day.”

Gilbert paused, letting Ludwig catch up with him before he said seriously, “This is the weirdest form of foreplay I’ve ever been part of. Just so you know.”

Ludwig burst out laughing, leaning against the doorjamb for a moment to steady himself.

Gilbert watched him carefully, unable to keep from smiling.

If this was what being friends with Ludwig was like, then he knew he’d be able to eventually get over his disappointment. He didn’t like keeping himself in emotional limbo. That had been his life for too long now, so the sooner he could say goodbye to the desire to slap a label that wasn’t friend on whatever this was, the better off he’d be.

And God knew he needed more friends.

Even ones he was fucking. Apparently.


	7. SEVEN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many people felt badly for Gilbert last chapter. Poor guy. 
> 
> Hopefully this chapter will help.
> 
> Thanks as always for reading!
> 
> (Also I have to change the rating on this chapter, so telling you now just in case)

“I swear to god, Gilbert, if I hear that vibration pattern one more time your head is going through the vending machine.”

Gilbert cursed and quickly grabbed for his phone before it skittered off the table. He gave Bel a sheepish smile, but she just narrowed her eyes and pointed towards the break room door.

“Out.”

“But—”

“Out!” Bel slammed her fist on the table, her cheeks nearly purple with rage. “Your damn phone keeps buzzing and you don’t even have the courtesy to tell me who it is so I can gossip about it! Get out!”

She picked up her empty Tupperware and made to throw it at him. Gilbert quickly scrambled towards the door, calling out, “All right, all right! Jesus – doctors get no respect in this hospital.”

“Stop being so cagey with your phone and maybe we’ll respect you!” Bel howled, making the other nurses laugh and call out after Gilbert, “Watch out, Doctor Weillschmidt!” “She’s serious – she’ll smother you with her lunch box!”

Gilbert stuck his tongue out at Bel before beating a hasty retreat to his office, his phone clutched against his chest. He’d started eating lunch in the break room since Eliza seemed to have difficulty with crowds (crowds being more than two other people), but that also meant confronting Bel and her horde. It was a bit of a lose-lose situation, but at this point he’d take catty nurses over Eliza any fucking second. Which probably wasn’t fair to her – she’d most likely improved her attitude and could talk about something other than Roderich and his amazing taste in tea, clothing, records, tandem bicycles, gardening, soccer, baking, and whatever new activity he’d mastered that afternoon. It was just easier to avoid her. Plus he had the feeling Bel had let it slip to Eliza that he’d been on a date, and having to explain that no, it hadn’t been a date, yes, there had been sex, no, they weren’t dating, was a conversation he was never going to be ready to have.

His phone vibrated again, and he slowed his pace to read. It was against nearly all of the rules in the hospital to use your phone during your shift, but after the third day or so he’d given in. When Ludwig had left two weeks ago, Gilbert had been wondering if he really was going to follow through with the whole ‘texting buddies’ thing. Their day out running errands together had gone well, and had actually made Ludwig leaving even shittier to deal with. Ludwig had dropped him off at his apartment, said a polite goodbye (no kiss, Gilbert was disappointed but hid it like a champ) and then left without ceremony. So Gilbert had figured things would stay low key, casual, Ludwig would maybe check in once or twice, no big deal.

But that first day Gilbert had turned on his phone after work and there had been fifteen messages waiting for him. They were mostly complaints about the airplane, the food, the hotel, but there was enough sarcasm and humor in them that he found himself charmed. 

Fifteen was still a lot. And he really, really wanted to be upset about it or think something along the lines of ‘isn’t this what stalkers do,’ but he was unable to dredge up any amount of negativity. He’d responded to every single one of them. Every fucking one, even the ones that Ludwig had obviously sent while exhausted that made next to no sense, they had too many spelling errors and too little cohesion. He was just as charming in words as he was in person, and after the first week Gilbert was struggling to not miss the other man. 

That he’d met exactly twice. 

That was the problem with getting physical so quickly, he supposed. It was difficult to relate to the other person without the excuse of hormones going nuts. But he reigned himself in, determined to stick to his original plan. Separation, then reassessment once hormones had receded to more manageable levels.

And it wasn’t as though it were bad, just being texting friends or whatever the more adult-sounding term for that was. The texts were light, fluffy. Little buttercream words that made the day palatable. And Ludwig was fucking adorable and didn’t want to date him.

That part was a little less sweet.

Gilbert flicked his finger across the screen, skimming the few lines of text.

/There is absolutely no way Indiana Jones would lose to Captain Kirk. Kirk may have phasers but Doctor Jones has a MacGyverish wit about him. Stop projecting your eighth grade crush fantasies. This is reality, Gilbert. It’s time to face facts./

Gilbert bit his lip to keep from laughing and quickly typed a reply, going back to fix any spelling errors. It was a bit early in their weird relationship for him to be sending out garbled texts, despite Ludwig’s penchant for them. Professionalism. That was key. 

He deleted his entire reply and started again.

And a bit less gushing. God. 

“You really need to cool it, Weillschmidt,” he muttered, ducking into his office before trying again. 

/Not sure which one of us has the crush, Ludwig. Dial it back a bit there, buddy. There’s only so much self-insert fanfiction can do for you. On a less nerdy note, how’d your meeting go today? And how many souvenirs did you purchase me? Also, is the fake greedy shtick appealing to you at all? It’s still in development stage so I need to know if I should go ahead with production or axe it before it becomes disagreeable./

He sent the text and sat behind his desk, drumming his fingers nervously atop the table. Several of his colleagues entered, wordlessly making their way over to their own desks and working in silence. Just as well. He really didn’t feel like having a conversation that wasn’t relayed through annoyingly small keys.

He opened his desk drawer and pulled out his bar of chocolate, placing it carefully on the table. There really wasn’t much left, but… oh well.

He slowly nibbled on a piece, reclining back in his chair as he thought about the rest of his day. Two more surgeries. He wouldn’t be off work until nine, too late to text Ludwig again in good conscience…

The door to his office was suddenly pushed open again, and Eliza stuck her head inside.

“Hey, got a minute?”

Gilbert mentally groaned but gestured for Eliza to come in. She shut the door behind herself and sat down in the chair in front of his desk. When she spotted the chocolate bar she made a face.

“That is seriously gross. You’ve been eating that same bar of chocolate for like two weeks. Either that or you’ve got a serious chocolate hording problem.”

“It’s a big bar,” Gilbert muttered, his cheeks coloring slightly. Eliza raised an eyebrow in interest at that and leaned forward.

“Oh? Why the blush?” she lightly teased. “Is this some sort of present? Is that why you’re savoring it?”

Gilbert’s scowl darkened but he pressed his lips together and refused to answer. Eliza smirked and sat back in her chair, humming.

“Obviously not from a patient, doesn’t explain the blush,” she mused aloud.

“You can quit the Sherlock routine any time, Eliza, it’s been played out,” Gilbert muttered.

“But I’m curious! And you know it’s healthy to satisfy curiosity,” she said airily, swiping a piece of chocolate. Gilbert bristled and let out a loud, ‘hey!’ of protest, but before he could stop her she’d popped it in her mouth. She chewed slowly, raising an eyebrow, and Gilbert sat back, silently fuming. 

“That’s a lot more murderous than you should look over a piece of chocolate,” she observed. Her lips curled into a wicked smile. “Oh. I see. So it’s that sort of chocolate, is it?” She laughed and propped her elbows up on the desk. “So Gilbert has an admirer, hm? What’s her name?”

Gilbert gave the other doctor a stony glare and wrapped up his chocolate in silence. Eliza clicked her tongue. “Fine, you’re going to make me guess?” She tilted her head back, staring at the ceiling. “That nurse, with the short blonde hair. Always wears a headband.”

“Her name is Bel, and she is very firmly gay,” Gilbert muttered, stowing the chocolate in the drawer.

“Really?” Eliza said in surprise, her eyebrows skirting up towards her hairline. “She hides it well.”

“Yeah, she does a good job not sexually harassing the other female members of staff,” Gilbert deadpanned. 

“You know I didn’t mean it like that,” Eliza protested. “I just – she’s very girly. Isn’t there that term… shit, what is it. Lipstick lesbian?”

“Wouldn’t know.” Gilbert crossed his arms over his chest and stared at Eliza. “Did you need something or are you just here to bother me and steal my chocolate?”

“Oh right! The chocolate. I’m still in the middle of guessing,” Eliza said with a wolfish grin. “And it’s not Lyra?”

“You’re not going to guess, so just get on with whatever you need,” Gilbert snapped, losing his patience.

Eliza’s green eyes widened in surprise, and for a moment she looked hurt, her bottom lip trembling very slightly. But then she scoffed and crossed her legs, her defensive walls zooming up so quickly they almost took Gilbert’s head off.

“You’re a lot less fun to be with when you’re not getting what you want from me,” she muttered, fiddling with her bangs. Gilbert couldn’t keep from flinching at that, the words carefully crafted to leave behind a guilty residue.

“It’s… that’s not why,” he muttered. “I’m childish but I’m not that bad. Give me at least a little bit of credit.”

Eliza fell silent, pursing her full lips for a moment before she shrugged. “I hope you’re not that petty, at least. And sorry for the crack about Bel. I’m. You know I’m not good with these things. Being caught off guard.”

“It’s fine,” Gilbert said wearily, not wanting to get into another argument. Eliza nodded and then with a little flick of her hair her bad mood was dispelled.

“I need to know if you’re willing to be my second on this surgery I have tomorrow,” she said pleasantly. “It’s not too complicated, but Williams dropped out, and—”

Gilbert’s phone started to vibrate loudly, dancing across the desk. He cursed and made a grab for it, but Eliza was faster. She waggled her eyebrows at him, laughing as she dangled the phone out of reach. “Oh ho! So even the great Doctor Weillschmidt will break hospital rules now. How tragic. Our last bastion, gone.”

“Give it back, Eliza,” Gilbert snapped, a note of panic in his voice. Eliza obviously picked up on it, because she arched a brow and stared curiously at the phone, the text still displayed on the lock screen.

“Oh dear,” she murmured, her eyes lighting up even as a slow flush spread across her cheeks. She glanced up.

“Who’s Ludwig?” she asked pleasantly, displaying the screen for Gilbert to see. “Although I guess that’s self-evident from the content. Your chocolate buddy, right?”

Gilbert grabbed the phone back, feeling sick to his stomach. He barely caught a few glimpses of the words, one of them a very condemning ‘cock,’ before he shoved the phone back in his pocket.

“He’s a friend,” he muttered, crossing his arms over his chest to hide how his hands were shaking.

“A friend?” Eliza repeated, a look of polite interest on her face. “…The same sort of friends we were? Or are you dating?”

Gilbert clenched his teeth, wanting to tell Eliza to fuck off, it was none of her business. It was so humiliating to have to admit that he was probably making the same mistake again. Getting too attached to someone who didn’t see him like that.

“…The former,” he finally bit out. 

Eliza let out a little ‘ah’ noise that made Gilbert want to shove his phone in her mouth. She sighed, her expression turning sympathetic.

“Are you sure it’s a good idea to get involved with someone like that?” she asked quietly. “Especially with your first gay relationship. Wouldn’t you want something more stable?”

“What I want, Eliza, is for you to stop pretending you’re grilling me for any reason other than pure gossip, and to leave me the hell alone at work unless it’s about work related things,” Gilbert muttered, turning off his phone and shoving it in his desk. That’s what he got for not leaving it password protected. And for having asshole friends. Ex-friends. Probationary acquaintances.

Eliza made a frustrated noise. “Gil, I still care about you,” she said sharply. “You’re one of my closest friends. I’m sorry our little time apart didn’t help like we thought it would but I need you to stop painting me as the villain in everything. You knew what we had, I did too. The cards were on the table the whole time—”

Gilbert nearly groaned in relief when the intercom light on his desk phone flashed. He nearly broke his finger in his eagerness to press the button.

“What?”

“Lovely,” Bel’s voice drifted up from the speaker. “You need to get to prep, Doc. Surgery starts in twenty.”

“Be right there.”

Gilbert killed the intercom and stood, thanking every deity he could name.

“Duty calls,” he said, gesturing towards the door. 

Eliza pushed herself to her feet, her eyebrow twitching slightly.

“We are having this conversation at some point, Gilbert,” she muttered. “I – fuck. I miss having you around. You were my best friend and—”

“Oh for fuck’s sake Eliza this isn’t an after school special!” Gilbert snapped, losing it completely. “There’s no moral here! There’s no repairing friendships, mending whatever bullshit got between us. It fucking sucked and even though I’m ninety nine percent sure that if this were a cheap ass high school drama you’d get the villain music on entrance I’m too fucking tired to deal with your immature shit at work. You dance around the issue, always threatening me with ‘we’re going to talk,’ ‘we’re going to have a talk, Gilbert,’ and then when I actually need you around to talk or confide you’re nowhere to be found or off riding dick all the way to the top of the fucking administration. I’m tired of just being there for you at your convenience! That was my life for five years and I’m fucking sick of it! We are thirty goddamn years old; grow the fuck up, you and the priss ant both!”

He moved out from behind his desk, all but shoving his way past Eliza, who looked stunned. His office mates were typing away furiously at their computers, pretending they heard nothing. Gilbert grabbed his lab coat as he left, slamming the office door behind him. It was fleetingly gratifying.

Then he realized that Eliza was probably going to steal his chocolate and his phone to retaliate and any satisfaction went out the window. He shrugged his coat on as he walked down the hall, reveling in the irony that he’d thrown a temper tantrum at work, all for the sake of calling someone immature.

The surgery didn’t go all that well. No mistakes, no slip ups, but there were a few close calls. He stayed in the observation room until it was time for his second, not wanting to leave his little spot for fear of running into anyone else in the entire hospital. Anyone at all. By the time his shift ended he was worn down mentally and physically and ready for bed. He had a half shift tomorrow, thank God, but even that wasn’t enough of a reprieve, really.

He zombied his way to his office, still mildly worried that when he arrived his phone and chocolate would be gone. He didn’t know which he’d miss more, initially, which was a sobering realization. Ludwig had bought him the chocolate when they’d gone grocery shopping together. He hadn’t said anything, but apparently he’d stared at it so often that Ludwig had picked up on his want and had simply placed it in the cart. Gilbert had tried to put it back but Ludwig was all smiles and teasing him about his juvenile taste in sweets (but what satanic asshole wouldn’t find salted caramel milk chocolate absolutely delicious, Gilbert had protested, it wasn’t childish, it was humane). In the end he bought himself one too and said it would be his airplane snack on the way to Belgium, which Gilbert found incredibly cute. And it was why he’d been savoring the damn bar for the past two weeks and why he’d had a hard time judging Ludwig for his initial fifteen texts. They were both exhibiting creepy stalker tendencies. It evened out.

With no small amount of trepidation Gilbert opened the door to his office. He was relieved to find it empty, even more relieved when he opened his desk drawer and his items were still present. He packed up his briefcase and headed out, turning his phone back on. It was so old it took until he’d nearly reached the station for all the aps to load. He finally opened the messenger one, nervous about what, exactly, Ludwig had said. He waited until he was seated on the train and then opened the text.

/I had no idea what ‘self insert fanfiction’ was, but the Google has informed me that it’s a sort of fan activity where you write yourself having sex with Sonic the hedgehog. I really hope that’s not true, but if so I commend you on the uniqueness of your hobbies, if nothing else. The meetings are going; I suppose that’s as neutral a way to put it. They’re really boring and even though I feel ridiculous when I catch myself, my brain keeps dredging up images of. That one. Activity. That we engaged in. To get me through the more boring moments. Somehow I can sext the word ‘cock’ all day when I’ve been out of the country for weeks and am feeling a bit desperate but speaking about real life events still flusters me. Of course it does./

Gilbert reread the text several times, the terribly full bubble of happiness making him nervous beyond belief that it would pop too soon instead of gradually deflating like it properly should. There was another text, and he finally convinced himself to move on to it.

/This is the most awkward transition, but given the nature of our relationship, would you be open to that. Sort of thing. Writing back and forth about things involving. Adult scenarios. If not, that’s fine – I get incredibly embarrassed but it can be fun. And I’m so useless at these meetings, there’s never a job for me that doesn’t involve fetching coffee and if I’m being perfectly honest with myself I do miss you in a physical way. Considering how we parted. Or how we really met, even./

There was another text, time stamped only a minute later.

/Fuck. Forget it. God I wish there were a way to take back texts. Maybe I’ll fly back and ninja into your hospital and steal your phone and erase it. Saving myself the humiliation might actually be worth the cost of the plane ticket. In all seriousness, please do forget I asked. I’m so embarrassed I think my brain is trying to commit harakiri with my spinal cord. Normalness is fine. Preferred. This is a trial period after all and it’s not really fair to ask anything of you. Sorry. Fuck. This is horrible. I’m horrible. I need to sleep./

By the time Gilbert reached the end of the text his face was bright red. Thankfully his stop was next, and only a few minutes later he was in the privacy of his own apartment where he could freak out in peace.

He locked the door behind him and immediately sat down on the couch, rereading all three texts multiple times. 

“Fuck,” he whispered, his voice shaking a bit. “Fuck. Holy fuck why do I not have friends to talk to about this. Fuck me. Fuck. Just – fuck. Okay.”

He began to tap out a reply, his fingers shaking very slightly. He had to delete and retype his response several times, worrying over every single word choice until he knew he was just stalling.

On a sudden impulse he pressed the send button, cursing under his breath the entire time. God. No, god. No god no what had he done this was too embarrassing—

He flung his phone across the room into an armchair and immediately stood, heading for the bathroom. Shower. Shower would be distracting enough. He had a radio in there, he’d just crank it up as high as it could possibly go to forget that he’d just explicitly described what he wanted to do to Ludwig if he were in the same airspace and also probably severely intoxicated. 

Gilbert stripped as quickly as he could and stepped into the shower, pressing his face against the wall.

“…Shit,” he said weakly, turning on the water to drown out the rest of his cursing. He spent as much time procrastinating as he possibly could before he gave up and started washing himself. He stepped out of the shower a few minutes later, clean but still mortified beyond belief. 

After making himself a cup of tea he cautiously ventured into the living room, towel still around his waist. He sipped at his tea, eyeing the face-down phone still on the armchair. Maybe Ludwig was asleep. He was probably asleep. There was no way he’d seen it, embarrassment would come tomorrow. He was psyching himself up for nothing—

His feet carried him over to the armchair, and with a few deft movements his phone was in his hand, unlocked.

There was a message displayed on the screen.

For a brief, panicked moment, Gilbert wondered if maybe he’d sent the text by mistake to someone else he’d been texting that day. The only people were Bel and a few others at the hospital but even the thought was enough to make him physically ill. It was that fear more than anything that made him read the ‘from’ line, and from there his eyes drifted downward to the body of the text.

/Holy shit./

Gilbert stared at the two words, torn between laughter and indignation. His fingers responded on their own, typing out a fast reply.

/’Holy shit.’ ‘Holy shit’?! I spend nearly a quarter hour composing that masterpiece – I talked about sucking your balls and I’ve never even done that! Ever! In real life! I had to imagine it – I had to imagine ball sucking and I don’t even know if that’s a thing that gets you off and all you respond with is ‘holy shit’?! Are you fucking kidding me?!/

He hit send and let out a burst of relieved laughter, falling back onto the couch. He pressed a hand against his face, his whole body shaking a bit from adrenaline. Emotions were weird as hell. There was no reason to feel like he’d just run a marathon, and yet, here he was. Sweaty and trembling and not even the sexy, alluring sort of quivering. The kind where you knew you should be heading for a toilet soon, your skin was clammy and your head a rolling ship in a storm.

His phone buzzed and he lifted it to read the message.

/Oh, God, no I didn’t mean it as an insult or like I was dodging. You just caught me off guard and you’re really good at this. At that. You must have some romance novel writer in your genes or something, although thankfully the weirder penis euphemisms seem to have skipped a generation./

Gilbert snorted quietly, tucking his legs under himself as he got comfortable.

/Flattery will get you nowhere with this. You gave me a heart attack and what, I don’t get anything in return? Not even a single cock or description of oral technique? Cheap, Schmidt. And this was your idea and everything./

He hit send and picked up his mug, downing what was left of his tea before heading back into the kitchen. Conversations this embarrassing required hot chocolate to soothe the soul. Normally he would have spiked it with half a bottle of single malt scotch but he had work in the morning and hangovers and children’s innards tended not to mix well.

In the middle of warming the milk, he heard his phone buzz. He waited until he was settled again before reading the new text, his cheeks slowly reddening the farther along he got.

/You’re right. It’s not exactly fair of me, is it. Especially not since I’ve been drifting off during meetings to more or less exactly what you wrote. With a few changes. Since we’re both in the middle of testing the waters as far as preferences go, let me just say in advance that I’m sorry if I say anything off putting. Also… I know you like to gossip, but I’d prefer these stay between us./

Gilbert punched back a reply, trying to work the microwave at the same time, so some things got garbled.

/I ptomise. Jus between usm/

He finished making his cocoa, grabbing his phone and heading back into the living room. It buzzed again as he sat down, and he quickly opened the text.

His whole face immediately turned bright red the moment he began reading and he had to set the phone down. It wasn’t event that explicit, but Ludwig had apparently learned really quickly how to get him flustered.

/Good. Because god damn do I want to be the one that fucks you this time. My mind really enjoys sabotaging me by dredging up sound bites of those noises you made. I don’t think I’ve ever heard a grown man whine like that before. Not a complaint. And god do I want to hear it again./

Gilbert let out a little breath and picked up his phone, quickly typing a reply.

/I’ve been compared to a cat in heat, yeah. Not my most masculine feature, but. I’m glad you like it, I guess.

He hesitated and then forced himself to keep typing. If he was going to embarrass himself he was going to do it properly.

/That said, I don’t make that noise for just anything. You got lucky last time, honestly. Show some gratitude./

He sent the text and curled up in a little ball on the sofa, wheezing quietly. He was so, so bad at being dominant unless he was actually in the thick of things. Pretending was all well and good, but his shell of conceited arrogance went about a millimeter deep and then dissolved into insecure goo. He was a rancid M&M of a human being and he knew it.

His phone vibrated again, and he scrambled for it, quickly skimming the text. He let out a weak, “Oh my god,” as he read and finally had to hide his face against the couch cushion again, laughing in that nearly silent, high-pitched way he did when his brain lost function.

/Good lord, you’re such a brat. I bet you anything with a bit of practice I could get you to whine like your life depended on it. I’d pin you down against that horribly ugly couch you have in your living room suck you off until you fucking screamed. A few rounds of that and you’d probably get evicted from your nice, modest building and be forced to relocate to a slightly less pickpocket-y neighborhood with fewer drunks climbing in your window. Maybe a bit closer to where I live. My mouth alone could get you evicted, Doctor, don’t test me./

Gilbert finally pushed himself up and typed back a reply, unable to keep from grinning.

/And you called me a brat. I can’t fucking believe you. It’s a little early in the friendship to be implying I should move. Plus, you should be more grateful to that couch. It was your bedfellow during a time of great unease. Don’t drag its reputation through the mud with your depravity.

He hesitated, his fingers tapping an anxious staccato against the side of his phone before he finished typing.

/And I thought you said you wanted to fuck me. A blowjob isn’t fucking, Schmidt. You talk a big game but when you’re forced to get down to it you’ll probably just roll over for me again. Not that I would mind at all, I just thought you were a man of more conviction./

Ludwig’s response came almost immediately.

/It’s late and I’ve already had to stick my hand in a bucket of ice water to keep from jerking off. I’m sharing a room with three others who would not appreciate it./

Gilbert frowned at the short text, but another one followed right after.

/And in my defense I was in the middle of composing a message so disgustingly wanton you’d have to go check yourself into the nearest nunnery. Your impatience cost you, Doctor. For shame./

Gilbert laughed and ran his fingers through his hair, murmuring, “You’re such a bastard,” to his empty apartment. He took a little break to brush his teeth before he sent off another text.

/Failing to deliver the goods again, Schmidt. Whatever would the League of Nations say. P.S. I’m only wearing a towel and there are rivulets of water trailing down my bare chest. For some unknown reason I’ve adopted a pose attainable only by female characters on comic book covers. Did I mention that I’m also lonely and horny. I’m thinking of ordering pizza and inviting the inevitably attractive delivery boy inside because I just can’t afford an honest tip./

Ludwig’s reply came so quickly it made Gilbert burst out laughing.

/No delibry. Do takeoug but put a shirt on frst. Can’t sex in publuc. And the league would say tha Doctor Weil Schmidt is a goddan brat who needs to shuut the hell up before i explode. When i get back i swear I’m gong to march right into your shabby domicile and fuck you ahainst the wall because i admitdyly have a thing for showing off durng sex soruy. As lon as you wnat me to of cours. Sory. Tired./

/Oh my God, Ludwig, go to bed! Jesus, you sound like a disturbingly horny yet vindictive fourth grader.

Gilbert worried at his lip and then slowly typed,

/But sure. About the fucking, I mean. Like we discussed last time I’ve never done that before so I’m not sure going at it vertically would be a kind introduction for my asshole but… sure. Thanks for asking./

He set aside his phone and headed into his bedroom to get changed. When he returned to the living room to get his phone, he saw that the notification light was on again, but he waited until he was in bed to read it.

/Oky. But also not okay. First time shoud be romancitc. Not against a wall lik a horny caveman os I can wait or maybe nevr do it. Whatever you want. Fuk I’m so tird. I’m going to bed. Nitgh./

Gilbert reread the garbled mess a few times, his heart thudding wonderfully loud in his chest. He pressed his forehead against his phone, kicking his legs a few times to try and calm down because good God Ludwig was so, so sweet, it wasn’t even fair…

/Good night. You’re a complete nerd and I reserve the right to mock you incessantly when you get back. Sleep well./

He shut off his phone after that, not wanting to distract himself even further. Already he was looking at a mere five hours sleep before he had to get up and go back into work. Part of him knew it was a lost cause, and he ended up staring at the wall for almost an hour, replaying the conversation over and over in his head, picking apart every word choice, analyzing it with the kind of obsession reserved for middle schoolers and their distant crushes.

He finally fell asleep with three hours to go, and when he woke up the next morning he was disoriented and giddy for some reason that took him a while to remember. He waited until he was on the train to start up his phone again, curious to see if Ludwig had sent him anything yet.

Zero messages.

He let out a disappointed sigh and shoved his phone in his pocket, grateful that the train was more or less deserted so he could nap in peace on the way to the hospital.

His morning surgeries went off without a hitch, even the one he was assisting Eliza with. She’d either taken yesterday’s tirade to heart or was incredibly pissed because her words were few and far between and clinically professional.

Gilbert nearly cried with relief when he was done, and on his way to the train station started to plan out lunch before he remembered he’d yet to check his phone. He started it up and waited impatiently for everything to load. When it did, however, it displayed no new messages. He frowned and restarted, just in case, but again. Nothing.

Fighting back his disappointment, Gilbert turned off his phone’s display and shoved it in his pocket. Ludwig was probably just busy. The conference had to be winding down soon. He’d have more free time, he’d start messaging again.

Five days came and went with Gilbert repeating that same mantra. He’d sent a few more tentative texts that started off with /Just checking in, hope I didn’t embarrass you too much/ and ended with /Please tell me you’re alive/. He’d lost the slip of paper with Ludwig’s email address, since they’d found out texting had worked and had just gone with that.

It was Sunday, his day off, and instead of going out shopping or meeting up with friends to see a movie (friends being Bel and her minions) he was sitting at his kitchen table, flicking his finger across the screen of his phone, waiting for a text that he was pretty sure wasn’t going to come. His stomach rumbled and he cast an idle glance towards his kitchen, too tired and lazy to actually make anything. Pizza, maybe. His phone was convenient.

He forced himself to sit up, doing his best to shake off the discouraged feeling. The timing really couldn’t have been worse. Right after things had gotten stupid and flirty, the sudden radio silence was pretty damning. And Gilbert, being the eternal optimist that he was, kept trying to shove down his pessimistic side’s guesses, the loudest of which was that Ludwig had woken up, seen the texts, and had freaked out in one of several ways all ending with him cutting off contact.

There were a thousand other things it could be. Schedule conflicts, lost phone, work, maybe he’d gotten in trouble and his phone had gotten confiscated. Did they do that during world summit meetings? Gilbert could only assume it was like high school, so probably yes.

With a heavy sigh he began flipping through his contacts, trying to find the pizza place. The guilt and unease were difficult to shake off, but dammit he was going to try. He placed an order for a large with whatever was on special and then hung up the phone and went back to brooding. He knew he’d shake it off in a bit. Go back to playing video games and not worry about the rest, but for now…

Sucked.

A knock on his door startled him out of his gloom. He stood, brows furrowed. That was way too fast for the pizza.

He walked over to the door and opened it, expecting to see Sadiq or Honda needing to borrow something.

He blinked in surprise, taking an automatic step back. 

“What the shit?”

Ludwig stood in the hallway, his face pinched, dark circles under his eyes. Even so, he looked awfully resolute for someone who just came back from nearly a month of intensive work.

He stepped inside the apartment, his blue eyes still trained on Gilbert’s face. Gilbert swallowed heavily and backed up, the man radiating a predatory intensity that made it difficult to speak.

“H-Hey,” he stammered, feeling his cheeks color from a mixture of confusion and tentative arousal. Because holy fuck had he forgotten how intimidating Ludwig was up close and how much that apparently hit every single one of his buttons.

Ludwig quirked an eyebrow, his expression relaxing slightly to something just shy of amused.

“Hey,” he said quietly, kicking the door shut behind him. “Sorry to just show up. Phone broke.”

“O-Oh,” Gilbert said, taking another step backwards. Ludwig followed. “Aha, well, I uh. Figured… figured it was that.”

Ludwig nodded, his blue eyes surveying something behind Gilbert. Gilbert took the opportunity to clear his throat and tentatively offer, “Would you like some tea or something? You must be tired from—mmph!”

In one smooth motion Ludwig had him pinned against the wall, his lips seeking his with a desperate intensity. Gilbert let out a confused squawk, his teeth clacking painfully against Ludwig’s for a moment before his Id kicked his brain to the curb and started kissing back properly. Ludwig’s tongue ran over his lips, forcing its way into his mouth while the man’s fingers deftly tugged up his shirt to press his palms against his chest. Gilbert squeezed his eyes shut, gasping in surprise when Ludwig’s hands were suddenly wrapped around his thighs, picking him up completely. Gilbert instinctively wrapped his legs around Ludwig’s waist and clung to his shoulders to keep from falling, his brain still working on playing catch up.

So obviously the texts hadn’t driven Ludwig away.

Good to know.

He felt Ludwig groan into his mouth, needy and painfully loud, and then Ludwig adjusted his grip just a bit and it took everything Gilbert had not to squirm away when he felt an unfamiliar firmness against him. That was Ludwig, oh god it was Ludwig and he was so fucking hard and his cock was way too close to that particular part of his anatomy. It was enough to make Gilbert slam on the brakes before his body started writing checks he wasn’t ready to cash. He turned his head to the side, breaking the kiss to gasp, “W-Wait! Wait – fuck, Ludwig, I need a moment…”

Ludwig immediately stopped, letting out a slow breath. “…Of course,” he murmured against his neck, his voice dark and patient even as his fingers toyed with the button of Gilbert’s jeans.

Gilbert swallowed heavily, suddenly shy about his own hard on rubbing against Ludwig’s stomach. He didn’t really seem to mind. Nice of him.

“S-So… how was your flight?” he said weakly, making a pathetic ‘nngh’ noise when Ludwig’s teeth nipped at a pulse point on his neck.

Ludwig laughed against his skin and lifted his head to stare up at Gilbert, a resigned look on his face.

“You’re determined to do this properly, aren’t you?” he teased. “Even after I outlined exactly what I would be doing via text.”

“Those were almost a week ago – I have a goldfish memory,” Gilbert mumbled, pressing his forehead against Ludwig’s. He grunted quietly when his back rubbed a bit painfully against the wall, but he wasn’t about to move any time soon.

Ludwig hummed in response, his fingers on the zipper of Gilbert’s jeans. They stopped.

“…Have you had your moment?”

He flicked the zipper pull up and down a few times.

Gilbert whimpered quietly as Ludwig’s palm pressed very slightly against his front. 

That was enough over thinking.

“Yeah,” he mumbled. “Yeah, I’m good. Fuck… just – whoa!”

He scrambled to get his legs underneath him as Ludwig set him down again. But then the other man was dropping to his knees and pulling down his zipper and god dammit the door wasn’t locked and the windows were open—

Ludwig’s mouth wrapped around him and Gilbert’s head jerked back, slamming so hard against the wall he nearly saw stars.

He forgot about the door and the window.

They ended up stumbling into his bedroom, shirts undone, pants half off, discarded completely the moment they crossed the threshold. Gilbert barely had time to feel embarrassed that his collection of robot models was still proudly displayed on his bookshelf before Ludwig was pressing him into the bed, hovering over him and promising that yeah, it would be like before, not like the text, not this time. He slicked his fingers and Gilbert propped himself up on his elbows to get a better view, curiosity driving him more than anything. His own cheeks colored at the look of rapture on Ludwig’s face, and for a moment he thought maybe he was ready, Ludwig made it look so easy, made it look like it felt so incredibly good, all the horror stories he’d read on the internet were probably just hyperbole.

But then Ludwig braced his hands against Gilbert’s chest for support and sank onto his cock, and the pressure and heat were enough to temporarily drive away any lingering curiosity. Ludwig began to move in earnest, his nails digging into Gilbert’s skin, his thighs trembling very slightly from the strain of supporting himself. The bed was creaking so loudly it sent a sharp spike of embarrassment through the lust clouding Gilbert’s brain. It was old, he stammered, trying to apologize even while things were happening, it was old and he’d never done anything on it before and oh fuck okay you’re right, fuck the bed, it’s a piece of shit who even cares. 

Ludwig laughed, the headboard was awfully ornate for someone with posters of robots on his wall, he teased, and oh shit it just gouged a hole in your wall, fuck I’ll fix it later, I promise—

Gilbert made a little noise, tugged him down to kiss him and shut him up because holy

Holy shit.

He really didn’t care about the damn wall just then.

They both lasted long enough for the headboard to chip away three more large pieces of plaster. The only reason Gilbert noticed was because one nearly gouged out his eye. He had to struggle to push it away, the majority of his mental faculties concentrated elsewhere. 

Ludwig suddenly tensed and hunched over, his forehead pressing against Gilbert’s shoulder, and the unexpected flood of heat, the weight and feel of Ludwig clinging to him, was all it really took.

Gilbert let out a strangled curse, his back arching off the bed at a ridiculous angle. He dug his fingers into Ludwig’s shoulder for just a moment, leaving behind long, red marks, before he fell back against the mattress, his chest heaving and his legs doing that weird twitching thing they sometimes did afterwards. Ludwig’s forehead was still pressed against his collarbone. It kind of hurt, but he was too exhausted to complain or do anything about it even as the man snapped his ribcage into kindling. Gilbert’s fingers found their way to Ludwig’s hair, petting back the sweaty strands as he stared up at the ceiling, at the little glow-in-the-dark stars he’d stuck up there in a pathetic attempt to recapture his college days. Now they just looked tacky and juvenile. Maybe they made adult versions. More realistic ones. Proper constellations.

Ludwig sighed and shifted just a bit, pillowing his head on Gilbert’s chest.

“So. Flight was moved forward a few hours,” he murmured absently, as though he were still standing in the doorway and not naked and sweaty and technically disgusting.

Gilbert laughed.

“Yeah. Noticed,” he said, closing his eyes. “Thanks, United Airlines. Appreciate it.”

“United Airlines is appalled they are being invoked at such an intimate time,” Ludwig said, shifting up to lie down next to Gilbert instead, resting his hand on his hip. “They demand a formal apology.”

Gilbert rolled over to face Ludwig, raising an eyebrow. “I guess I should apologize to Jesus then, too. Pretty sure he got, uh. Invoked. A lot.”

“He’s probably used to it. Poor guy.” Ludwig’s lips quirked up in a small, embarrassed smile. “Sorry about the, uh. The porn scenario. By the way. My phone has the worst fucking timing. You have no idea how pissed I was and it just kind of built up into this weird aggression – thanks for reigning me in, by the way. I guess I’m still set to automatically go for the, uh. The. The rear.”

Gilbert groaned and pressed a hand against his face, laughing again.

“It’s fine – pretty sure my weird yelping would have stopped you even if I hadn’t gotten my wits about me quickly enough. And I promise if this continues I’d be willing to give it a shot. Just… well like you said. First time… kind of need to go slow. I hear.”

“True,” Ludwig said quietly, his hand moving to brush his thumb over Gilbert’s cheek. “And I’m more than happy to go slow. Today was just… a different word for desperate.”

Gilbert felt his face go red again, the gesture so fucking intimate it made him want to hide under the bed. Ludwig had done it last time too, hadn’t he. Started touching his face and neck. Should have been weird – especially since his hand was a bit sticky and Gilbert was firmly not thinking about that right now – but with his brains still scrambled, it was nice. Confusing, but… nice.

They lay like that in silence for a while, Ludwig’s fingers trailing over Gilbert’s nose, his lips, jaw, throat, before he finally spoke again.

“When I was studying abroad in China – I was twenty or so. I could barely speak the language and I was so fucking stressed, every day I would go back to my apartment and get on Skype and freak out to my friends,” he said steadily, as though reading a script. “I’d been there for almost half a year and then one day my computer just started shutting down. I was too incompetent to go to a repair shop, too poor to buy a new one, and I grew so incredibly desperate trying to fix it. It got to the point where I was frantic I was so… lonely. I felt isolated for the first time in my life. My family, my extended family that is, is around. A lot. I’m not really a people person but it was nice knowing the option was there, I guess, if I needed support. So although it seemed so stupid to react so drastically, even at the time, and there were a thousand other options for fixing it I kept spiraling down, getting more and more panicked and more and more cut off…”

Gilbert listened quietly, his eyes focused on Ludwig’s face as best he could without his glasses. 

“Shit,” he said sympathetically, giving Ludwig’s bicep a squeeze. “Computer issues are the worst.”

Ludwig blinked, as though surprised anyone had been listening to him. He averted his gaze, his cheeks red.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I don’t usually… anecdote. But when my phone broke this time. It. It kind of felt the same.”

His hand stilled on Gilbert’s shoulder and he caught Gilbert’s gaze again, his lips pressed together in a thin line.

“I didn’t like. Being isolated from you,” he said, the words clipped. “I’d be more eloquent about it but all I can really say is that it fucking sucked.”

Gilbert’s chest tightened and he leaned in just a bit more, wanting to see as much of Ludwig’s expression as he could.

“You missed me?” he gently teased. “Just in a sex deprived way or…?”

Ludwig shook his head and mumbled a quiet, “In a personality way too, you jackass,” before falling silent again. Gilbert laughed, but took pity on the other man.

“I missed you too,” he admitted. “Concocted, like, a billion scenarios that would have caused you to stop texting just to keep calm. My favorite was that you got so tired you mistook your phone for a waffle and drowned it in syrup. Tragic.”

“It did almost get that bad,” Ludwig murmured, obviously distracted. He frowned slightly, his brows furrowing, before he let out a heavy, rumbling sigh. Gilbert fell silent as well, letting Ludwig brood or whatever he was doing.

Suddenly, Ludwig spoke again.

“I take back what I said.”

Gilbert raised an eyebrow.

“…So you did just miss me in a sex deprived way…?” he said slowly. Well, it would explain the greeting.

Ludwig made a frustrated noise and gestured vaguely.

“Not that. Before. Like. Way. Before, before I left.”

Gilbert propped himself up on his elbow, trying not to feel too hopeful. He schooled his expression, biting his cheek to force down his giddy smile.

“So you mean you will be my live-in maid? Is that it?”

Ludwig groaned and rubbed a hand over his face, immediately recoiling when he realized he hadn’t cleaned himself up yet. He reached over Gilbert’s body for a tissue on the nightstand and began steadfastly wiping his hands.

“Not that either, jerk,” he muttered. “The thing about. Us. Labels. Labels for us.”

Gilbert was fairly sure he was going to explode so he spoke very quickly before guts redecorated his bedroom and ruined his limited editions.

“I get pretty needy,” he said, sitting up so he could stare down at Ludwig to hopefully give his words a bit more emphasis. “I’m neat but in that semi-neurotic sort of way that makes sense to only me. I’m not a great cook. Worse baker. I – I mean I look fantastic, don’t get me wrong, but other than that I’m not sure what I can bring to the boyfriend table.”

He took a deep breath, the words coming like vomit now that he’d started.

“I have childish taste in extracurriculars,” he continued, scooting away a bit so Ludwig could sit up as well. “I sometimes throw tantrums – oh yeah I cussed out Eliza and accused her of sucking dick to get promoted, that was nice – I’m scared of my own job sometimes. I like to pet cats even though I’m allergic, which I’m pretty sure points to a low self-preservation instinct, I—”

Ludwig clamped a hand over his mouth and the rest of Gilbert’s list fizzled out. He stared at Ludwig, scowling when the other man quirked an eyebrow at him.

“I’m not doing this to be rude. You have a vein in your forehead that’s doing a weird, bulging dance, and I think you were about to work yourself up into an aneurysm,” Ludwig explained, the annoyed look on his face not really hiding his amusement very well. He lowered his hand. Gilbert automatically licked his lips and stared nervously at Ludwig in lieu of saying anything.

Ludwig sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, casting little glances Gilbert’s way before he gave in.

“You can date me. If – if you want. Obviously,” he mumbled. “I’d. I’d very much like that, actually. I know what I said, and it’s true, I don’t. I’m not exactly ready, but. If you’re willing to put up with me getting over things – you’d help. A lot. I just have a feeling. And I really like you and it’s kind of creepy and possessive of me but I was worried someone was going to ask you out or – I don’t know. I’m an anxious person underneath my cool cucumber façade – fuck. No – god, I’ve never said ‘cool cucumber’ in my entire goddamn life what is wrong with me.”

He groaned and rested against the wall, pressing his hands against his face.

Gilbert watched Ludwig beat himself up for a few seconds, needing the realness of abject humiliation to convince himself that Ludwig was telling the truth. He finally reached out and gently tugged Ludwig’s hands away, fighting back a stupidly excited grin.

“Okay,” he said, the casualness of the response clashing with how badly his voice was shaking from excitement. “Okay. I’ll be your boyfriend. Please. I’d like that, yes. And I’m not making fun of you I swear – even though your penchant to speak in single clause sentences when you get flustered is adorable as hell, I’m just nervous because I’ve never had a boyfriend before and you’ve had lots and are – I mean you’re so hot. And you being into my personality as well as my external meaty parts is going to take me a while longer to get used to.”

“Oh my god,” Ludwig burst out laughing, lightly shoving Gilbert away. “I will pay you actual currency to never use the phrase ‘meaty parts’ again in conjunction with any person.”

Gilbert rolled with the little push, a huge grin on his face.

“I’m gonna hold you to that,” he threatened, perking up when he heard a knock on the door. He stood, grabbing his boxers off the floor and tugging them on.

“Who’s that?”

“Pizza,” Gilbert said cheerfully, starting to make a beeline for the door when a hand around his wrist stopped him. He glanced at Ludwig, curious. The other man gave him a look of exasperation before he laughed and shook his head. He stood up, pressing a kiss to Gilbert’s cheek before butting their foreheads together again.

“So,” he said quietly, his baritone ringing in Gilbert’s ears. “Boyfriends?”

Gilbert swallowed heavily, his knees going weak just from the word. He gave a little nod and pressed a shy kiss to Ludwig’s lips.

“Yes, please,” he said softly, unable to keep from grinning. The pizza boy was going to think he was a lunatic.

“Boyfriends.”


	8. EIGHT

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! I’m struggling to balance writing with my new job, but I still managed to get this out! Thanks for your patience, guys. I really appreciate it. And thanks as always for reading. 
> 
> So this chapter is mostly fluff, which is one of the reasons it was so hard for me to write. Because I’m a monster who enjoys angst too much. And I never know what to do in its absence.
> 
> Enjoy!

The blaring alarm didn’t put up much of a fight when it hit the far wall. Its strident wail jumped a few octaves before petering out. Pulverized plaster fell around the destroyed clock. Like snow. 

Gilbert let his arm flop back onto the bed, staring at the blurred mass of colors in front of his eyes. It was still dark. People talked about how amazing the air smelled in the morning before sunrise. They were lying fucks. Four AM was a horrible time to wake up and an only okay time to go to sleep.

Behind him the bed dipped as Ludwig stirred. The arm slung around Gilbert’s waist tightened.

“You owe me another one. Again.”

Ludwig’s sleep-heavy voice made Gilbert snort.

“I told you last time to get one of those that make the nature noises. Then I wouldn’t get so irritable,” he pointed out, tugging Ludwig’s hand up to rest against his chest. 

“’spensive,” Ludwig mumbled, his face pressed between Gilbert’s shoulder blades. “Then you’d owe me fifty every time… ‘stead of ten…”

“Ah, I see. So you’re really just looking out for your poor, doctor boyfriend, is that it?”

Ludwig hummed, his legs twining with Gilbert’s even more.

“Yes. ‘m… philan…thropic…”

Gilbert let out a little sigh and patted Ludwig’s arm before starting to untangle himself from Ludwig.

“A four syllable word at this hour. Kudos. But you should go back to sleep, nerd. I’ll set another alarm for you.”

Ludwig grunted softly, his hold tightening even more.

“Ten more minutes.”

“What—oh my god, I’m not having this fake fight again,” Gilbert groaned, struggling to free himself. “I have morning shift these next two weeks, you know that. Would you rather I show up here at three in the morning after night shift?”

Ludwig fell silent after that, and for a moment Gilbert thought he’d fallen back asleep. But then Ludwig’s deep voice drifted up again, muted by the covers and his back.

“Don’t… don’t want you working at all… ‘cause… selfish…”

“’’Cause selfish’ indeed,” Gilbert muttered, gently pryingly Ludwig’s hand off of him and wriggling out of bed. Ludwig let out an angry chuffing noise but otherwise remained silent. 

Gilbert slipped on his glasses and finally risked a glance at the bed. Ludwig had one eye cracked open and was staring ruefully at him. The petulant blonde grabbed a pillow and hugged it against his chest instead, mumbling, “Wake me up after your shower so I can say goodbye properly…”

“You know it makes me feel guilty when I do that,” Gilbert said, moving to ‘his’ drawer of the dresser that Ludwig had set aside for him. His stuff had started to pile up and become ‘unsightly.’ Not his words. He tugged on boxers and then felt around in the closet for a pair of scrubs. He’d left several sets behind. Just in case.

Clothes located, he headed into Ludwig’s bathroom and quickly showered and got ready. Four AM wakeup was a bitch, but Ludwig’s sulky reactions to literally everything made it tolerable. He didn’t handle mornings well, which Gilbert had reveled in when they’d first started sleeping regularly together. Which was honestly right after Ludwig had asked him out, so two weeks. 

Felt longer.

Decently clean and more or less awake, he padded back into the bedroom and flopped down next to Ludwig again. He checked the time. 4:15. He had to go in five.

Ludwig had burrowed under the covers again. Nesting, Gilbert liked to tease. He curled up against the lump of person, nuzzling Ludwig’s shoulder. Probably his shoulder.

“Lutz,” he murmured, his fingers trailing through the few locks of blonde hair that peeked out from underneath the sheets. “I’ve gotta go…”

The lump stirred and the covers parted. Ludwig peered out from underneath them, still looking like an ill-tempered child. With a heavy sigh he sat up and gave Gilbert a quick kiss before bowing his head to rest against Gilbert’s shoulder.

“…And you can’t call in sick, right?”

“When have I ever answered yes to that. Even though you ask every fucking day, you loser,” Gilbert teased, nuzzling Ludwig’s temple. “Want me to stop by again after work?” He knew the answer but the selfish part of him loved hearing it every time.

“Yes. You don’t need to ask.” Ludwig lifted his head, his eyes half-lidded and bloodshot. He pressed a hand against Gilbert’s cheek, his thumb brushing just underneath Gilbert’s eye. 

“You have your key?”

Gilbert tilted his head into the touch, sticking out his tongue slightly. 

“Yup. Get to play latchkey kid again, huh?”

“Mm. I’ll be back at six.”

“Can we do pizza? I know we had it the night before last but… c’mon. Pizza.”

“How are you a doctor. How are you not dead from a cheese-induced heart attack, I don’t understand these mysteries of the universe.”

Gilbert laughed and bumped his nose against Ludwig’s before giving him a kiss. “You’re delusional from lack of sleep. Go back to bed, you big palooka.”

“Your insults make you sound like you’re a time traveler from the nineteen thirties I hope you know,” Ludwig grumbled, but he kissed Gilbert back and then huddled under the blankets again. 

“Gotta stay classy for my ambassador boyfriend.”

“Assistant to the.”

Gilbert barely caught the muffled words as he stood. He laughed. “Ludwig. Sleep.”

After dodging the pillow that was half-heartedly chucked at him, Gilbert scurried out of the room. Before he began seriously entertaining the idea of calling in sick. He grabbed his bag, doing his best to tiptoe down the stairs so Ludwig wouldn’t yell at him for acting like an elephant. Outside the morning fog had yet to dissipate. Gilbert tugged up the collar of his coat, shivering. He waited impatiently for the first train of the day, the platform deserted. It was always unnerving during transition hours. The bars were closed. No one was up yet for work, except maybe a few sanitation specialists. 

As the train pulled into the station, he glanced over his shoulder towards Ludwig’s townhouse. Two weeks since they’d started dating. He’d kept the relationship under wraps as much as he could but fuck it was so hard. Especially with Bel asking questions every five seconds and Eliza getting quieter and quieter with each one.

He stepped onto the train and sat down, ignoring the lone other passenger. Also a doctor. Or someone madly in love with the color teal.

Slowly he tipped his head back to rest against the window, closing his eyes. His apartment was probably in shambles. Dust everywhere. Dust could accumulate in two days, right. That was a thing.

He made the executive decision to at least stop by his apartment (and not just to get more clothes and dump out the inevitably-spoiled milk in his fridge) just as the train pulled into his station. The hospital was still waking up, mostly dark. The half-lit windows made patterns in places. Tile. Weird Jack-o-Lantern faces. The streets hushed and empty. No one around to appreciate them.

Gilbert humanely guillotined the part of his brain that was crying to go back to Ludwig’s, and left it outside the building. Pining could come during his lunch break. When he wasn’t busy shoving needles into tiny people.

After checking his schedule he headed into his office and began the tiring task of sorting his files before his rounds began. He felt his phone buzz and after a bit of warring with himself –because he really was trying to break the habit god he was it was just so, so hard –he checked it.

/I found your wallet in the kitchen. Also your pants were there. We need to develop a better system. Laundry baskets strategically placed around the house for your convenience, perhaps. Need me to run it by later? The wallet. Not the pants. I hope you have other ones on. It’s a children’s hospital./

Gilbert bit back a snort of laughter and quickly typed a reply.

/Nah, I can bum money off of Bel for lunch. Don’t worry about it. Go back to bed, you still have an hour, right?/

Ludwig’s reply came almost immediately.

/Couldn’t get back to sleep. Don’t read too much into this but it was probably because I was missing you terribly and suddenly the bed felt too big and lonesome. I probably cried. Languished. All that. I think I’ll hit the gym early so I’ll be back around five today. Pizza for dinner? Completely my idea./

Gilbert read the text a few times, biting his lip to keep from smiling too much. Ludwig would deny it vehemently because he apparently reveled in cultivating a negative image of himself, but he really was the kindest person to ever set foot into Gilbert’s life. Or on the planet. He was a Golden Retriever of a human being, honestly, and Gilbert still had little to no idea how their miracle of a relationship had actually happened. There were times when he was still convinced it was some weird fever dream of his.

/Pizza sounds great. What a fantastic idea, you absolute genius. I’ll see you at five, then./

He hesitated with his thumb on the power button and then let himself read through the texts one more time before shutting down his phone and stuffing it in a drawer.

Right.

Patients.

He managed to wrench his mind back to where it belonged, firmly at work, as he began his rounds. Most of his patients were still asleep, so it was just a matter of checking their charts, their vitals, and gently grilling the nurses about their condition. By the time noon rolled around the hospital was lively again. Children dashed through the halls and Gilbert fought not to yell at them. The nurses could do that, he wasn’t about to rain on any parades. Most of the kids were already scared enough of him. No amount of smuggled candy or comic books could combat a scalpel or sutures.

He made his way back into his office and slumped down at his desk. Morning shift meant he slept through his lunch break. The little lie he’d told to Ludwig earlier about bumming money off of Bel made him feel badly, but what Ludwig didn’t know he couldn’t scold him about. It was amazing the alacrity with which Ludwig berated him considering they’d only known each other for a little over a month…

Gilbert rested his cheek on his desk, his fingers itching to yank open the drawer and turn on his cell again. There wouldn’t be anything new – Ludwig knew better than to text him during the main part of his shift – but there were old messages he could read…

Dammit. Weillschmidt.

Gilbert cursed softly and tugged his labcoat over his head. He was in deep, wasn’t he. Rereading messages even though they were already going out and the supposedly titillating-est part of their relationship development was over. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to sleep. He’d been able to make himself pass out on command in med school. No reason why a skill like that would up and disappear.

Just as he was starting to drift off, a knock on his office door made him lift his head. He didn’t have any surgeries scheduled, so it was either an emergency or there was about to be one after he shanked whoever dared bother him.

“What?” he snapped.

The door was slowly pushed open. A blue eye peered through the crack in the door.

“Oh thank god.”

Gilbert perked up at the sound of the familiar voice. A moment later Ludwig came striding into his office, looking relieved.

“You have no idea how belligerent some of these nurses are,” he complained, setting a bag down on Gilbert’s desk. “The last three offices were very rude. At least I think they were offices. One contained a gurney and everyone had blood on their hands. Maybe I accidentally discovered a murder.”

“What the hell are you doing here?” Gilbert said in mild surprise, ignoring whatever other nonsense Ludwig had said because he was being purposefully inane just to annoy him.

Ludwig smiled and tapped the bag.

“I got nervous thinking about you wandering around without identification. What if someone thought you were a model and started harassing you and you wouldn’t be able to prove them wrong.”

“Nope. Stop that. You’re already dating me, you don’t need to keep piling on the charm until you become some untouchable being,” Gilbert said quickly, holding out his hand. Ludwig laughed and gently pushed the bag towards Gilbert.

“I’m sure you can guess because this bag is comically large for just a wallet, but there’s something else inside. And you should look quickly because I hate suspense.”

“You’re so weird,” Gilbert grumbled, but he pulled the bag over and peered inside. He laughed in delight and pulled out the containers.

“Shitty Chinese food! You do care!”

“Shitty Chinese food for two. I figured I could take my lunch break here, if you don’t mind,” Ludwig offered. His voice was its normal cavalier tone, but his expression was tentative and so sweet and unsure it made Gilbert’s heart melt.

“I don’t mind, but you’ll have to eat standing out in the hallway. Doctors only,” Gilbert said solemnly, pulling out the containers and setting them up on his desk. “Hope you’re good at balancing containers of lomein over your three thousand Euro suit.” He frowned as he rifled through the bag. “Whoa. Shit, no forks? You’re kind of asking a lot of me here. How do you know I can use chopsticks?”

“Because you’re under the age of fifty and not a racist asshole?” Ludwig said slowly. “At least I hope you’re not.”

“Again, you’re asking a lot of me here. Starting with the ‘under fifty’ thing,” Gilbert pointed out, handing Ludwig a pair of chopsticks. “I mean, you’ve seen the hair. You know the carpet matches the drapes. Never seen my license. I could be old for all you know.” He grabbed a container of noodles and dug in, letting out a little moan of appreciation.

“Having been privileged enough to witness the extremes to which you can bend, I’m a thousand percent sure you are either under the age of fifty or a yoga master. In which case you’ll probably outlive me anyway so your age is moot,” Ludwig said, taking some of the chicken and making up a plate for himself on one of the container lids.

“I’m really not that flexible. It’s just hard to stay upright when you have girth the size of your average linebacker manipulating your body into various positions,” Gilbert said, stealing a piece of Ludwig’s chicken.

“Don’t – can we not call it girth?” Ludwig mumbled, his cheeks turning a bit red. “You’re making me want to stop going to the gym. Maybe I’ll shrink down and be a stick figure like you.” He paused and then glanced up towards the ceiling. “I’m sorry, Barbellus, god of the gym. I take it back. This heathen will not lead me astray.”

“You know, I’d like to go to the gym with you at some point, if that’s okay,” Gilbert said, ignoring Ludwig as best he could and receiving a gentle kick under the desk for his efforts. “And not just to make sure you’re not scoping out other guys or… ladies? Is that a thin—nope, not a thing, don’t need to make that horrified face I get it.”

“I don’t mind, but with your schedule that might be hard to manage. You could just do an informal thing with me in my workout room,” Ludwig suggested, raising an eyebrow. “I’m assuming the reason you want to come is to see me all disheveled and glistening. Although as you probably know—”

“Less glistening more dripping, yeah I know,” Gilbert teased, laughing when Ludwig blushed redder. He was about to lay into him again when the intercom beeped. With a resigned sigh Gilbert pressed the flashing button.

“What.”

“Lovely. I need to see you in Krista’s room, Doctor. There’s a new lesion I want you to take a look at. Won’t be long.”

Gilbert rubbed a hand over his face, regretting it immediately when grease got everywhere. Damn noodles. He fumbled around for a napkin, giving Ludwig a grateful smile when the other man gently pressed one into his palm.

“You were starting to embarrass yourself,” Ludwig stage-whispered, laughing when Gilbert kicked him in the shin.

“That’s fine, Bel, I’ll be there in just a second,” Gilbert said normally, quickly wiping his glasses before standing up. He killed the intercom and flashed Ludwig a smile.

“Sorry. Duty calls.”

“It’s fine,” Ludwig said with a dismissive wave. “I’m the asshole at work who’s taking a two hour lunch today just to see you, so take your time.”

“…I can’t tell if you’re being passive-aggressive or just flippant with me.”

“The latter.” Ludwig flashed him a small smile. “Plus it’s really sexy to hear other people call you ‘doctor.’ Maybe we should start implementing that in the bedr—” 

“Nope! Nope, leaving now,” Gilbert said quickly, making a beeline for the door, Ludwig’s laugher still ringing in his ears. He quickly made his way to Krista’s room, ignoring Bel for the most part as she chatted with him while he checked the dressing and sutures of the girl’s wound. It was mildly infected and he had to lance it, but Krista was brave, only a few tears. A quick twenty minutes later he was walking back down the hall with Bel, discussing other treatment options.

His feet came to an automatic stop in front of his office door. For a moment he couldn’t figure out why, but then he heard voices inside and remembered.

Holy shit.

He’d left Ludwig alone.

“…Doctor, do you not remember how doors work.”

Gilbert cursed softly.

Holy shit.

Bel was with him.

“Can I just swing by the nurses’ locker room later to drop off the files?” he asked, trying to sound as cavalier as possible. Bel raised an eyebrow.

“You want to walk all the way across the hospital instead of letting me walk five feet through a door.”

Her eyes slowly widened and she peered around Gilbert, staring at the frosted windows on either side of the door.

“What is it? Oh my god, what’s going on, is there something in there?” she asked, her voice rising in excitement with every word. “What are you hiding?”

“Why do you automatically assume I’m hiding something?” Gilbert complained, cursing again as he mentally threw in the towel. Whatever. Bel was going to weasel her way into his relationship at some point. May as well be now.

With a tiny sigh Gilbert opened the door. He came to an abrupt, unpleasant stop when he realized that Ludwig wasn’t alone.

Roderich paused mid-sentence. He stared at him over the tops of his glasses, a disapproving frown on his face.

“Doctor Weillschmidt. You failed to provide your guest with a visitor’s badge.” He tapped his breast pocket. “Please do try and remember protocol.”

Gilbert fought not to take his clipboard and decapitate the director with it. It would go agonizingly slowly. Anne Boleyn levels. He glanced Ludwig’s way, but the other man merely raised an eyebrow and gestured towards Roerich.

“Doctor Edelstein was kind enough to provide me one. And he’s been keeping me company.” Ludwig gave the director a tiny smile. It oddly enough made him look like a Disney villain. Gilbert didn’t recognize the gesture.

“Oh. That’s… good,” Gilbert said slowly, Ludwig’s icy tone making him a bit uncomfortable. With his already intimidating stature it was hard to tell if Ludwig was actually pissed with him, pissed with Roderich, pissed at the world, and what exactly he was thinking. Probably something bad.

Roderich gave Ludwig a tight-lipped smile. “I had no idea Doctor Weillschmidt’s spheres of influence extended all the way up to the ambassador level. He’s a rather humble employee here. And I don’t mean to doubt your credentials, but we have to be rather careful who we let roam our halls. Security concerns…”

“I’m nothing that grand, I can assure you,” Ludwig said coldly, returning the empty smile. “If you would like my card, Director Edelstein, I can have one faxed over. Unfortunately I came today in a bit of a rush and don’t have any on my person.”

“Oh no it’s quite all right,” the director said immediately, backpedaling so quickly he nearly tripped over his own words. “I didn’t mean to imply anything negative about your personage, I can assure you.”

“No offense taken.” The words implied forgiveness, but the way Ludwig’s blue eyes narrowed made Gilbert want to hide under his desk. And he wasn’t even the one Ludwig was pissed off at.

Hopefully.

Roderich seemed to sense Ludwig’s anger, probably because he wasn’t completely incompetent when it came to social queues (miracle of miracles), and cleared his throat.

“Well it was lovely to make your acquaintance,” the director said stiffly. “Although in the future – doctors really aren’t supposed to have visitors, except in cases of emergencies.”

“This was an emergency, Doctor Edelstein, I can assure you. I don’t take interrupting a hospital’s workings lightly,” Ludwig said, all traces of smiles and what little good cheer there had been leaving his voice. “And to be quite frank I don’t appreciate your implications to the contrary.”

He sat back down and picked up his carton of Chinese food again, gesturing with a chopstick.

“I think that will be all, Director Edelstein.”

Roderich’s glasses nearly vibrated off his face from how hard he was shaking. Whether from anger or humiliation, Gilbert couldn’t tell. Probably half and half. A swirled cone of discontent.

“I see. I’m sorry to have offended you.” Roderich’s blue eyes darted to the side to stare fixedly at Gilbert for one horrible moment before he turned on his heel and left. 

The door clicked shut behind him, but Gilbert remained where he was, staring at Ludwig. He swallowed heavily and was about to say something when another voice got there first.

“…Holy fuck.”

The whispered words made him turn around. He immediately froze, staring in horror at Bel. He’d completely forgotten she was there. She was standing off to the side, her clipboard clutched against her chest. And she looked, predictably, delighted with the tension that had just unfolded in front of her.

Gilbert took an automatic step closer to his nurse, hissing in warning, “Bel…” But true to form, she paid him no mind and immediately dashed to Ludwig’s side, her green eyes bright with perverse curiosity.

“Are you really an ambassador’s assistant and not a male escort.”

Ludwig nearly dropped his chopsticks. He blinked and turned to face the nurse.

“…Relatively sure,” he said slowly. “Although I am forced to content with my fair share of dicks. The recently departed Director Edelstein a prime example.”

Bel let out a loud ‘HA!’ of pure joy and then glanced over at Gilbert.

“This is it, right?” she said excitedly. “The reason you’ve been so out of it at work?”

“Bel – you can’t go around calling people fancy names for prostitutes, Jesus Christ,” Gilbert groaned, rubbing a hand over his face.

“I don’t even care the guy is so fucking hot it makes zero sense otherwise,” Bel said happily, twirling a bit as she faced Ludwig again. “So are you Gilbert’s boyfriend?”

Ludwig dissected a piece of chicken with one of his chopsticks.

“Why don’t you ask him that?”

Bel immediately whirled around, fixing Gilbert with a stare so intense he felt the tips of his ears redden.

“Well?”

“I—just—god.” He made a frustrated noise and sat down behind his desk. “If I say yes will that make my life better or worse. Just an innocent question.”

“Oh worse, definitely, but your reaction pretty much answered for you,” Bel purred, plopping down atop Gilbert’s desk. Her eyes slid to the side to study Ludwig.

“You’re scary when someone angers you, aren’t you, Pretty Woman?”

“Pretty—what.” Ludwig looked at a loss for words, but the icicles that had temporarily hijacked his personality seemed to have melted the moment Roderich left. Thank god. Ludwig finally shrugged and pushed a carton towards Gilbert. “I know Gilbert isn’t fond of the man, and after meeting him, although I did my best to remain impartial, I was inclined to feel the same. He’s very oily and reminds me a good deal of some of the more unctuous politicians I deal with. I may have. Slipped. Slightly. Back into work mode.”

“So that’s what you’re like when you’re at work? All the time?” Gilbert blurted out, pushing Bel off his desk and pointing towards the door. “Out, Bel.”

She let out a little whine even as she shuffled away.

“The files…”

Gilbert let out a little growl and tossed the folder file at Bel. She caught it skillfully and struck a touchdown pose before scuttling out the door, calling out, “I’ll be grilling you about this later, Doctor!” over her shoulder.

Gilbert groaned and rested his head against the desk, staring at the wood grain. His glasses were pressing painfully against his nose. He was hard-pressed to care. 

“I’m sorry.” Ludwig’s deep voice made the surface of the desk vibrate slightly. “I assumed your coworkers knew. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot.”

“It’s fine,” Gilbert mumbled. “She’ll torture me for information later, but what’s a few thumb screws among colleagues.” 

Ludwig chuckled quietly. Gilbert started when he felt hands in his hair, but he remained still, letting Ludwig pet him like a weirdo.

“Poor doctor. Even your own director doesn’t give you the time of day as he should.”

“He’s a shithead, that’s for sure,” Gilbert said wearily, pushing himself up. He picked at his food for a moment before cautiously venturing, “So you were a little… intense. Around Roderich…”

“Was I?” Ludwig asked, sounding honestly surprised. “I suppose I did slip into work mode, like I said…”

“That was work mode? Really?” Gilbert propped his elbows up on the desk, staring fixedly at Ludwig. “’Cause honestly I was ready to piss myself. I don’t know how people deal with you when you’re like that.” He tilted his head to the side, suddenly a bit… worried. “…So is that… your default mode? I’ve never really seen you like that.”

“Default mode – Gilbert, I’m not a robot,” Ludwig muttered, furrowing his brow a bit. “I know I get a bit intense at work sometimes, but I’m still me.”

“Really? Because I’m pretty sure if that Ludwig had been the one to take me out to dinner things wouldn’t have progressed beyond me awkwardly asking you if it was okay to order dessert and you breaking the table with your fists at the mere suggestion,” Gilbert said, raising an eyebrow. “I think it’s a legitimate question.”

Ludwig fell silent, staring at the desk for a moment.

“…I don’t. I don’t really know what you’re talking about,” he finally admitted, pushing himself to his feet. “I’m sorry if I was overly harsh with Doctor Edelstein but—”

“What? No, fuck that prick,” Gilbert said, standing as well. “It’s just… weird. To see you that… I dunno. Intense.” He rubbed the back of his neck, still feeling a bit out of sorts. It was hard to reconcile the cold, commanding presence with the sweet, dorky guy in front of him. He bit his lip and then glanced up cautiously at Ludwig.

“Since you’ve visited me at work, would it – I mean, I know security clearance is probably a lot worse but would you mind…” He trailed off, not sure how to ask Ludwig if he could come visit him at his big, fancy government job. Because honestly he’d probably make a fool of himself and that went well for exactly no one. But before he could stammer out something to rescind the question Ludwig had all but pounced.

“Sure!” he said eagerly, his eyes widening. “In fact – god this is such good timing, but I was too scared to ask. There’s a banquet coming up, semi-formal, tux not necessary, and I was wondering if. Well. I mean, seeing as how we’re. Dating. Boys. Boyfriends. God no – we’re not dating boys, please ignore me when I’m nervous—”

“Are you Beauty and the Beast-ing me?” Gilbert excitedly interrupted, practically launching himself over his desk. “Is this a ball?! Like fancy – will there be violins?! That’s the mark of any classy event, I hear, is violin music. Could be biased ‘cause I play myself but is it?”

“Which one of us is the beast in this – okay, me, you’re pointing rather vigorously,” Ludwig said with a quiet laugh. He licked his lips and then nodded, very slowly. “If… you wouldn’t mind,” he said, giving a little bow and holding out his hand. “Although like I said, it’s a banquet. Not a ball.”

“Please never bow to me again, I feel like I need to buy you a fedora,” Gilbert mumbled, taking Ludwig’s hand and tugging him upright. He held on tightly to Ludwig’s hand, practically vibrating with anticipation. “But yes. Please. I wanna be fancy. I hear I make really good eye candy.”

“You do,” Ludwig said solemnly, leaning across the desk to kiss Gilbert’s cheek. “I’m glad you understand why I’m taking you. Your job is to look pretty, hold a champagne glass, laugh at the ambassadors’ jokes, make me look good by deafult…”

“I can do that,” Gilbert said eagerly. “I’m good at being a sycophant – how do you think I got hired?”

Ludwig raised an eyebrow and pointedly lowered his gaze to Gilbert’s crotch. Gilbert burst out laughing and punched Ludwig in the arm.

“Right! Right, of course, Roderich was so enamored with my enormous cock he said ‘sure come work for my children’s hospital,’” he snickered, hopping up to kneel on the desk so he could return the kiss. He pressed his lips to the corner of Ludwig’s mouth, teasingly pulling away when Ludwig tried to deepen it.

“Ludwig, please. Not in front of the children,” he said loftily, raising an eyebrow.

“There are zero children in your office – why do you think I chose this local,” Ludwig quietly teased, threading his fingers through Gilbert’s hair. He leaned up, closing the distance between them to gently press his lips against Gilbert’s. Gilbert’s eyes fluttered shut, the tenderness of the gesture making his stomach clench pleasantly. When Ludwig broke the kiss after only a few seconds of contact, Gilbert whined quietly and tried to lean down for another one. Rough fingers against his lips stopped him.

“I’ve got to go,” Ludwig said quietly, a note of irritation in his voice. “I think two and a half hours is excessive for a lunch break. Even though I am otherwise flawless at my job.”

“I should get back too,” Gilbert muttered, pressing a few more fleeting kisses to Ludwig’s nose and lips. “Damn unwell children. I wish there were no more sick kids.”

“That’s the nicest complaining I’ve ever heard,” Ludwig said with a laugh, his hand lingering for a moment at the nape of Gilbert’s neck before pulling away. He gave him one last smile as he grabbed his briefcase.

“I’ll see you at five.”

“See you,” Gilbert echoed, still crouched on top of his desk. He stared sadly at Ludwig, already calculating the number of minutes he had left in his shift. Ludwig’s hand was on the doorknob, but he faltered when he caught Gilbert’s eyes. He cursed quietly, turning his head away again.

“Stop that,” Ludwig muttered, yanking the door open. “It’s already hard enough to leave without you looking at me like an abandoned infant animal. And you know I have a thing for you crawling on top of furniture to be taller than me. We’ve talked about this.”

“Your very specific and weird kink, I know,” Gilbert said, sliding off his desk to pad over to Ludwig. He gently pressed his fingers against the small of Ludwig’s back, ushering him out the door. “Go on. Sooner you leave, sooner you get to see me again. And sooner you get to see pizza again, which, I mean. Just as much if not more incentive.”

“Not even close,” Ludwig muttered, adjusting his bag. He rested his hand against Gilbert’s cheek and leaned down for one last kiss before straightening up. He ran his fingers distractedly though his hair, and then with a quiet mutter of, “Be strong, Schmidt,” headed down the hallway. Gilbert watched him go with a mournful look on his face before slowly retreating back into his office. He sat behind his desk, staring at the half-empty containers of food.

Oh god.

God this really wasn’t good.

He pressed a hand against his face, quietly cursing himself.

It wasn’t fair that he missed him already. Not when it had been all of two fucking seconds.

With a loud groan he threw himself back into work, desperately searching for a distraction. Five PM. He could hold on until then.

As the day went on, however, and with fewer and fewer distractions to preoccupy him, Gilbert found himself replaying the bit of conversation he’d stumbled into. Over and over until he had the whole confrontation practically memorized. It was bothering him, but he was hard-pressed to figure out why. It wasn’t until he was in the middle of drawing blood that a suspicious worm finally settled amongst his gray matter.

Everyone had multiple sides to them. That wasn’t news. People acted differently in different situations, around different people. But Ludwig’s difference had been extreme to the point where if Gilbert hadn’t had a visual to go along with the voice, he might not have recognized his own boyfriend.

Which, in the end, pointed a giant, glowing arrow towards the thought that Gilbert had been avoiding for two weeks. 

He really didn’t know Ludwig.

At all.

The thought continued to pester him all week. He’d known when he’d said yes to dating Ludwig that he was being more than a little stupid. And probably too in love with the idea of getting to reenact something that logic dictated only happened in romantic comedies. People didn’t like each other that fast. Or they shouldn’t. And there were very good reasons for exhibiting caution.

Reasons like seeing your boyfriend’s gaze turn serial-killer cold when staring down someone. Even a someone you didn’t really like.

When he was around Ludwig, however, the slight feeling of unease abated almost immediately. It was difficult to stay cautious when your new boyfriend was someone so attractive they were often confused with a male lady of the evening or whatever (Gilbert refused to liken Ludwig to a prostitute no matter how enticing that particular roleplay sounded). But when he was alone and Ludwig wasn’t there to be charming and attentive and kind the unease would make its presence known again. Just a quiet, nagging thing that pointed out that he didn’t know anything about Ludwig’s family other than that he was an only child with an apparently god-awful number of cousins. Or that he didn’t even know where Ludwig had gone to college, where he’d been born, what his favorite foods were, what his pet peeves were besides laziness and dust (which was really just skin flakes and hair follicles being lazy).

And Gilbert wanted so badly to inundate Ludwig with questions. Maybe lock him in a room with a single naked light bulb slowly swinging overhead. One metal folding chair.

But every time Gilbert would talk himself out of it. He’d berate himself for being paranoid. Insecure. Asking too many questions was what often drove people away. They found his constant interest in their lives off-putting and so they’d close up more and more until there was nothing left. A clam fused shut. Pistachio without a crack. And then the only way to crack it open was to take a hammer to the damn thing, and just like with clams and stubborn nuts when you did that to people and relationships it tended to be pretty final. Unlike with clams and pistachios, however, with people and relationships all you were left with was a shattered shell. Nothing even remotely palatable. 

So Gilbert kept his mouth shut, latching onto whatever scraps of information Ludwig would offer without prying for more.

It was one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do. He wasn’t built for self-restraint, even though he was good at practicing it. It gave him headaches and made him grouchy. So by the time the banquet rolled around – a mere five days after Ludwig had invited him even though it felt like a fucking age – he was having to pinch himself whenever the urge to pry into Ludwig’s life came up.

He stared at himself in the bathroom mirror, adjusting his tie. It was one of those new –style ones. All skinny. It made his chest look broad. Ludwig had picked it out for him and as much as it burned having to admit, Ludwig did have better taste than him when it came to clothes. He leaned forward, wrinkling his nose as he studied his hair. With a little sigh he called out, “Ludwig! The gel’s not working?”

“Did you put enough in?” Ludwig’s voice drifted back from the bedroom.

Gilbert glanced at the gel, distrust in his expression.

“…How much is enough?” he asked finally. “And do I really need to do this? I’ve been told my natural hair style is very flattering!”

“Your natural hair style makes you look like the villain in a Power Rangers episode.”

Gilbert turned to glare at Ludwig who had moved to hover in the doorway.

“Rude,” he muttered, tugging at a lock of hair. Partially to try and see if he could get it to cooperate, partially out of nervous habit. He was doing his best not to think about it too hard. That in less than an hour he would be bumping elbows with some of the most important people in the government. Trying to act casual and not like he’d started dating the ambassador’s assistant because of a hilarious series of what essentially amounted to sexual one-ups.

“You need to hear the hard truth, Doctor. It’s the best way,” Ludwig said gently, moving to stand behind Gilbert. Gilbert watched Ludwig in the mirror, tensing slightly as his boyfriend’s fingers gently carded back his hair. He burst out laughing, though, when Ludwig made a face.

“Gilbert – did you put the whole bottle in here? Why is it crunchy?”

“Yours is crunchy!” Gilbert protested, leaning back against Ludwig’s chest. “It’s crunchy all the damn time – why do you think I avoid being adorable and carding my fingers through it? Huh?”

“I assumed your virility impeded you. Wouldn’t be able to resist ravishing me every time, no matter how public the venue,” Ludwig admitted, carefully pushing back a few locks of hair until they stuck. Gilbert sulked a bit, watching his boyfriend work in the mirror. It was, honestly, a nice view, although it did make him feel a bit like he was being groomed by an older brother or something. Incompetent. That was it. He felt incompetent. 

But really there was nothing like seeing yourself and your… significant other (gross) in such a blatantly intimate way. And as narcissistic as Gilbert could be, he was forced to admit that he looked a lot better when Ludwig was in the picture. Less like the printer had run out of ink, anyway.

And the doting look on Ludwig’s face didn’t hurt.

Gilbert’s cheeks colored slightly as he felt Ludwig’s chest move against his back. “…This is probably why people have sex in front of mirrors, huh,” he mumbled, tugging at his tie. Ludwig gently swatted his hand away and retightened it.

“Probably,” he said quietly. “I never really saw the appeal. If I were a vampire and couldn’t see myself, sure.”

Gilbert raised an eyebrow at that little reveal. He tilted his head back, staring up at Ludwig, suddenly not liking the odd disconnect the mirror forced on their eye contact.

“First off, no. Please, never mention vampires in my presence again. And secondly… do you – I mean.” He faltered. “Do you not. Like how you look?”

Ludwig gave a dismissive shrug and grabbed a towel to wipe his hands off. “I don’t dislike it. But I don’t really enjoy looking at myself, no.”

Gilbert raised an eyebrow and followed Ludwig out of the bathroom, moving gingerly to try and keep from wrinkling his suit. It was the only one he owned. He’d worn it exactly once; to a medical conference where he’d given a speech to try and impress his colleagues before he’d realized that, A. impressing medical colleagues was impossible, and B. he really didn’t give a fuck about the pharmaceutical industry since they clearly weren’t in it to help the kids.

Needless to say he’d cursed the suit purchase until about a week prior. Shit had been expensive.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but if I looked like you I am a thousand percent sure I would be in a Narcissist relationship with myself,” Gilbert ventured. “Common law wed to a mirror, body pillow with my face on it, the whole nine yards.”

“I’m glad you like how I look,” Ludwig said diplomatically, heading downstairs and into the kitchen. “I, however, don’t. Luckily I’m not dating myself so it’s not really an issue.”

“You really don’t – but.” Gilbert gestured helplessly, leaning against the wall. “Chiseled jaw lines don’t do anything for you? I mean you’re dating me so I’d assumed they were at least slightly on your ‘I can tolerate this facial feature’ list.”

“They’re fine on you,” Ludwig said quietly, pouring himself a cup of coffee even though it was almost seven in the evening. “Let’s just say that I’m happier with myself now than I was when I was a teen and leave it at that.”

Gilbert’s interest piqued. Ludwig rarely talked about himself younger than the age of twenty five. “Acne?” he asked sympathetically. “I’m always amazed how many of my kids are all hung up about acne. Even if they only have half a liver, it’s all about the acne.”

Ludwig gave him an exasperated look. “No not – all right, not only acne. Although thank you for reminding me of that trauma.” He drained his cup of coffee and glanced at his watch. “Town car should be arriving soon. Do you need to borrow a jacket?”

“Nah I’m good. So about younger you,” Gilbert said casually, sidling over to Ludwig. “What was it that made you upset? Or, ah… discontent? We’ll go with that.”

Ludwig clicked his tongue, his expression turning mean for a moment before he pushed past Gilbert into the hallway.

“You’re tenacious. That’s a polite way to say obstinate, right.”

“Well can you blame me? This is the first sign of emotional weakness you’ve shown me,” Gilbert protested, following Ludwig. “Imagine if Buddha descended from paradise and pulled you aside to mumble, ‘so I’m actually not all that content with my earlobes because of a past trauma’ and then just tried to float away on a cloud again? Wouldn’t you be like, ‘Fuck, Buddha, wait up you asshole.’”

“You couldn’t have chosen a more svelte deity for your analogy?” Ludwig grumbled, tugging open the hall closet. He tugged on a coat and then turned to hand one to Gilbert. “Wear this. It gets cold and as cute as you are when you’re borrowing my things I like keeping warm.”

Gilbert scowled a bit when Ludwig dodged the question again, but he pulled on the coat with a little sigh.

“Fine, fine,” he complained. “I’ll drop it, but only because I don’t want our first trip as a dating couple to your place of employ to have a dark shadow of your reticence over it.”

“Thank you,” Ludwig said stiffly, walking over to the front door. He peered through the windows and then gestured for Gilbert. “Car’s here.”

Gilbert took a moment to examine himself one last time in the hallway mirror before hurrying after Ludwig. He took his boyfriend’s hand, threading their fingers together and bumping his shoulder against Ludwig’s. When Ludwig hummed and raised an eyebrow at him, Gilbert offered the blonde a smile.

“Cheer up,” he quietly ordered. “You get to show me off tonight and watch me vomit from nervousness. It’s two birds one stone for you. Live it up.”

The pinched lines around Ludwig’s eyes loosened and he finally smiled.

“You always assume I enjoy seeing you in pain or expelling bodily fluids. And you know perfectly well there’s only one bodily fluid that I don’t mind and even that requires a very specific state of arousal to appreciate,” Ludwig murmured, his hand drifting just a bit to squeeze Gilbert’s thigh as they headed down the front walk. Gilbert squawked and reflexively batted Ludwig’s hand away.

“Jesus Christ – the driver’s right there being all posh and waiting to open the door for us,” he hissed, his whole face red.

“And I’m sure he’s heard a lot worse than an unmanly warble,” Ludwig said with a little smirk, giving the driver a nod before sliding into the car. “There’s a reason the partitions are sound proofed.”

Gilbert hesitated before getting into the car, muttering, “Thanks for mentioning bodily fluids and implying clandestine sex in the span of ten seconds. Definitely makes me not regret leaving my industrial-sized hand sanitizer at home.”

“I told you two travel-sized ones would be sufficient for a five hour party,” Ludwig murmured, resting his hand on Gilbert’s knee the moment the door was shut. He raised the partition, waggling his eyebrows at Gilbert, obviously trying to get a laugh out of him.

It worked.

“You’re such a loser,” Gilbert snickered, pillowing his head against Ludwig’s shoulder. “Although half of the lines you say are just playing along with me so I guess I’m half a loser by default.”

“Only half? You’re not giving yourself enough credit,” Ludwig teased, his thumb tracing the outline of Gilbert’s kneecap. “Is it true these are just floating?”

“Is it – wait, you mean kneecaps?” Gilbert murmured, his eyes sliding shut. “Yeah, more or less. In laymen’s terms. Oh, speaking of which, what are some no-no topics I should avoid?”

“Well, first on that list is the term ‘no-no topics.’ We prefer to refer to them as ‘hot button issues,’” Ludwig said softly. “Other than that… pretty much everything. The politicians like to pretend to be celebrities when they’re at semi-informal functions like this. It’s a chance for them to show off their wealth and their wives and to make snide remarks about France or Greece or Italy. Nothing deep or heavy. You can talk about your work, although you’ll probably get at least half a dozen that try and out-philanthropize you.”

“Ooh, maybe I can goad them into donating to the hospital,” Gilbert purred, tilting his head to press light kisses to Ludwig’s jaw. “We could always use more money, and I’m sure there’s some politician out there who could use a cleaner image.”

“You’re not wrong about that,” Ludwig muttered, tilting his head to make things easier for Gilbert. He fell silent, and when he stopped responding completely Gilbert pulled away, mildly concerned.

“…So uh… not… in the mood?” he cautiously ventured, feeling a bit… jilted.

“Huh? Oh!” Ludwig had the decency to look embarrassed and then shook his head. “No, you’re fine. It’s more. Last time I went to these I was with someone I introduced as my fiancée. And more or less everyone there knew him and, worse, liked him.” He gave Gilbert an apologetic look. “This might be a bit. Awkward.”

“Awkward,” Gilbert repeated, his palms starting to sweat. He wiped them on the seat, glancing nervously out the window. They were already almost downtown where the grand hotels were. He couldn’t remember which grand hotel they were going to but it was probably the grandest. Great.

Gilbert swallowed heavily, suddenly realizing he’d never been to a social gathering fancier than a children’s birthday party. And that at the last one he attended had ended with him drinking single malt scotch out of a fake Viking helmet.

This would probably be a little. Different.

“…So not only do I have to worry about not getting cocktail sauce on my tie, but I have to compete with your invisible ex,” he said slowly, resting against the seatback again. “That’s. A thing.”

“You don’t have to compete,” Ludwig mumbled, wincing just a bit. “All I’ll ask is that you keep in mind that everyone there is… comparing. You.”

Gilbert shot Ludwig a withering glare. “That doesn’t really help.”

“I know,” Ludwig mumbled, fiddling with his tie. “I know. And honestly it probably doesn’t help that we haven’t been dating that long. They’ll jump all over that. Especially Natasha. She’s got this uncanny knack for saying exactly what’s plaguing you. And it doesn’t help that she looks like an extra from a Kubrick film.”

Gilbert pressed his hand against his face, letting out a slow breath.

“Well. We could always tell the driver to turn around,” he mumbled. “But he has to stop at a Taco Bell first. In fact, put Taco Bell on our route regardless. I doubt I’ll be able to eat anything there.”

“You’re not bringing Taco Bell into my house,” Ludwig mumbled. “But you can eat it in the yard.”

“Like a punished child.”

“Like someone who doesn’t understand that taco sauce stains…” Ludwig bit his lip when Gilbert gave him a pleading look, and after only a few seconds let out a heavy sigh and looked away. “God – fine. Fine, Taco Bell. In the house. I’ll allow it once.”

Gilbert laughed weakly and pressed a kiss to Ludwig’s cheek, nearly falling into his lap as the car pulled to a stop. He extracted himself and brushed off his suit, casting another nervous glance outside. Their car was one of many in a long line, pulling in front of – oh of course, the Ritz Carlton. Fantastic.

“If I puke on the marble you have to swear you won’t deny you know me,” Gilbert mumbled, holding onto Ludwig’s arm as their driver opened the door for them.

“I’ll even use my tie to wipe your mouth. It’ll be romantic, I promise. No abandon,” Ludwig said quietly, slipping out of the car. He whispered something to the driver before taking Gilbert’s hand in his own, gently pulling him towards the brightly lit entryway.

“No abandon – you sound like an internet me me,” Gilbert mumbled, ducking his head to hide his smile. “Like that shiba inu. That’s a thing you young kids like, right?”

“Gilbert I’m three months younger than you. Calm yourself,” Ludwig murmured, but there was a small smile on his face as well. Gilbert noted with a little burst of pride that Ludwig inclined his head towards the doormen who pushed open the enormous, gilded doors for them. Every other person simply strode through, looking all snobby and stuck up like the conceited royal elephants in a Babar movie.

“Setting the bar too high again, Mr. Schmidt,” Gilbert said quietly, holding himself a bit straighter as they walked into the lobby. The room was ridiculously ornate. More fireplaces than some small castles were in possession of, and just as many tapestries from the looks of it. Plush rugs, marble, tile floor. Chandelier. 

Gilbert spotted a fountain off in one of the corners that was a smaller model of one he recognized from Schonbrunn palace. He glanced up at Ludwig, wanting to show off his knowledge, but the look of utter boredom on his boyfriend’s face made him bite back an ungainly snort.

“Ludwig, what’s up?” he asked lightly, squeezing Ludwig’s hand. “You look like everything here is made of rainforest wood and you’re a vigilante howler monkey dead-set on reclaiming it.”

Ludwig started out of his little daze and gave him a bizarre look.

“That’s… incredibly specific,” he said carefully. “Care to dumb it down.”

“You look disgusted and vengeful,” Gilbert clarified, making a little ‘oooh’ noise when they walked into the ballroom. Oak paneling. Cathedral ceiling. Banners hanging down from said ceiling with beautiful, embroidered crests on them. Shrimp bar.

Gilbert made a beeline for the crustaceans, pulling Ludwig along. Ludwig followed obediently after him, waving at a few people.

“It’s an endless shrimp bar – they won’t run out,” he said gently when Gilbert began placing handfuls of shrimp on the plate.

“That’s wonderful to hear. Has no bearing on my current modus operandi,” Gilbert explained, handing Ludwig a plate. “Start shoveling.”

Ludwig let out a little sigh but dutifully began placing shrimps (individual ones until Gilbert shot him a warning glare) on the plate. Along with some vegetables and things Gilbert was going to turn a blind eye to.

Plate full, Gilbert retreated to a table in the corner and sat down with his hoard. He began steadfastly peeling shrimps, lining them up like cabaret dancers on his plate. Ludwig took a seat next to him, handing him a napkin before beginning to peel his own stock.

“There will be other food as well. This is one of probably six appetizers,” Ludwig said. “I know you don’t consider this pertinent but just in case.”

“You’re awesome for telling me the food schedule, but yeah, no bearing,” Gilbert said cheerfully, popping a shrimp in his mouth. He chewed slowly and stared out over the crowd of mingling dignitaries. He recognized several of them. Mostly from television, which was rather terrifying.

“Ludwig have you been on TV?”

“Yes.”

“A lot?”

“A fair amount. I’m not really a fan.”

“Oh.”

Gilbert gnawed on a shrimp before leaning over to whisper, “There’s a lot of fancy people here.”

“They’re just pretending. Like you,” Ludwig whispered back, pressing a peeled shrimp against Gilbert’s lip. “Hurry up and eat these. The smell is freaking me out.”

Gilbert laughed and accepted the shrimp. “All right, all right. So squeamish,” he teased, and then set about destroying his plate in earnest while Ludwig sat silently by to marvel at the spectacle. Like a good boyfriend.

Three minutes later Gilbert sat back with a groan and then staggered to his feet.

“Need to walk it off,” he mumbled, holding out his hand for Ludwig. “Shrimp gut.”

“That’s possibly the grossest thing you’ve said to me yet,” Ludwig said mildly, standing as well. “I need to start making the rounds now that most of the people are here. Stick close, and don’t say anything. You smell like a wharf.”

“You could have at least picked a cute animal that eats krill rather than a pile of salt-soaked wood,” Gilbert complained, letting Ludwig tug him away from their home base. “Penguin. I could smell like a penguin.”

“I figured you’d appreciate more Hemmingway-ish imagery instead of two-year-old’s picture book, but okay,” Ludwig said in clear amusement. He stopped in front of a very put-together woman (probably someone famous) and gave her a small smile. It looked remarkably like one of the ones he’d forced on Roderich a few days ago.

“Madame Baynsk. It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

The woman smiled back in return, another empty one, and said pleasantly, “Mr. Schmidt. How wonderful to see you.”

The two continued to exchange strained pleasantries while Gilbert watched on in solemn amazement. Ludwig really was like a different person. It was painfully obvious that every word choice was a studied one; that his tone, smiles, seemingly flippant gestures were all affected. And the crazy thing was, for as obvious as the whole song and dance was, no one seemed to be at all inclined to call him out on it. The two had soon amassed a small audience, and it wasn’t until one of the gathered men cleared his throat and said gently, “And who is your companion?” that Ludwig’s act fell away just a bit.

He glanced down at Gilbert, looking, for just a brief moment, oddly exhausted, before he straightened up again.

“My boyfriend, Gilbert. He’s a pediatric surgeon at one of our larger hospitals in the city.”

There came a polite smattering of murmured acknowledgement, and Gilbert offered the group a small smile. Their eyes were a bit glazed over with disinterest, which he was honestly thankful for. He wasn’t really in the mood to talk about his job to a bunch of people who probably made in a day what he made in a year. And who didn’t have med school loans to pay off.

“Wonderful to meet you, Gilbert,” the first woman said, her blonde, coifed hair bouncing slightly as she nodded.

“A pleasure,” Gilbert said politely, tightening his hold on Ludwig’s hand. Okay. That should be enough, right? A delicious smell caught him off guard, and he stared longingly across the room. Some sort of quiche. Cheese pie. Something with cheese and crust that contained an entire fryer’s worth of lard.

He swallowed heavily and was about to subtly pull Ludwig away when a rich tenor caught his ear.

“Ludwig. How are you.”

The use of Ludwig’s first name made Gilbert glance around, on edge. It had been ‘Mr. Schmidt’ this and ‘Mr. Schmidt’ that all evening. Suddenly a Ludwig.

And then Ludwig sucked in a sharp breath, his hand tightening painfully around Gilbert’s until he couldn’t feel his fingers anymore. Gilbert winced but followed the line of Ludwig’s focus. It landed on a tall, lanky man with wheat blonde hair, pulled into a low ponytail at the base of his slender neck. He was cradling a champagne flute in one hand. The other was wrapped around the waist of a petite girl with large, almond eyes and straight black hair.

The man’s gaze slid down to focus on Gilbert for a moment before returning to Ludwig’s face.

“I must say I’m a bit surprised to see you here,” the man said, and Gilbert caught a note of anxiety in his voice. “I thought – well, it doesn’t matter what I thought, does it.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Ludwig said sharply, the pleasant politician façade torn to shreds by the three words. “What are you doing here, Francis?”

Gilbert’s eyes widened.

Francis.

A name carved into the waffle iron perched on Ludwig’s counter.

Oh.

Gilbert cautiously lifted his eyes, the shrimp in his stomach suddenly flopping around as though alive again. Beheaded ghost shrimp. 

Ludwig’s ex stood awkwardly by as one by one the politicians took their timid leave. Once they were gone, he cautiously raised his glass.

“A bit forward of me to propose a toast so soon, but… to new relationships, I suppose.”

Gilbert was sure the bones in his hand were going to fuse together from how tightly Ludwig was holding onto his hand. He flinched but otherwise remained still, the look of utter fury and hurt on Ludwig’s face making it hard to move.

The shrimp in his stomach began their dance anew. Gilbert cast a longing glance towards the door and the inviting patches of nature beyond.

Well he was already in a puking mood. What was one more ride on the emotional tilt-a-whirl.


	9. NINE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took an actual age to get out. And I’m also sorry that apparently I can take the most lighthearted prompts and just drag it through a shit ton of unnecessary drama and angst. It’s my one skill.

“You can go to hell.”

Gilbert bit back a groan and rubbed a hand over his face.

So much for civility.

They were the first words Ludwig had spoken after nearly ten seconds of stunned silence, during which Francis – the fabled ex – looked about an inch away from prying up the floor boards and escaping Steve McQueen style.

“Where the fuck do you get off showing up here?! And waving around your glass like you’re the fucking emcee and – what the hell is she doing here?!”

Apparently not Ludwig’s last.

Francis’ date looked ready to blow a shock gasket. Like a tiny pressure cooker with very fancy shoes. Francis winced again, but then threw back his shoulders and met Ludwig’s stare with an even one of his own.

“We promised each other we wouldn’t hide, didn’t we? I received my invitation the same as you—”

“An invitation you only received because of me!” Ludwig snarled, letting go of Gilbert’s hand.

Francis frowned behind his champagne glass.

“Ludwig, please. You’re making a scene.”

“Oh, wonderful, I’d always hoped to be chided by you one last time before I shuffle off this mortal coil—”

“Well someone has to keep you from becoming a spectacle. Your new stand in doesn’t seem to be stepping up to the batting cage.”

“It’s stepping up to the plate you pompous jackass!”

Okay people were starting to stare.

“Ludwig, indoor voice,” Gilbert said quietly. But firmly. Like how his one foster mom had always chastised him. Fucking terrifying.

Although not as terrifying as the look Ludwig gave him.

“I’m not in kindergarten, Gilbert,” he snapped. “You don’t need to treat me like a child.”

Still not an indoor voice.

“I do, apparently, when you fly off the handle in the middle of a fancy dinner party with tons of international politicians,” Gilbert hissed, his own temper starting to fray. “Ludwig, think of your position—”

“Yes, think of your position, Ludwig,” Francis echoed, his voice tense with concern. “Remember three years ago – the Davai incident…”

Gilbert stared at Ludwig’s ex in mild shock. Seriously? Seriously?! This fucking asshole. “The Davai incident”? What was this, a Hitchcock film? Was everything going to fade to black and white to show the traumatic flashback? 

Gilbert opened his mouth to tell the guy to kindly fuck off, the role of upbraiding boyfriend was already taken, when Ludwig let out a little sigh. Gilbert watched in confusion as Ludwig’s body shifted subtly, turning their defensive lines into a semi-circle. Inviting the outsiders in. To stand how a group of friends would when they talked.

Ludwig lifted his head, his blue eyes paler than usual. “You’re right,” he said quietly, taking another deep breath. His shoulders relaxed, the last of the fight went out of his posture. “You’re right. Sorry. I’m acting like an idiot.”

Gilbert felt his insides grow cold. He watched Francis smile, the expression hesitant yet amiable. It made him look ridiculously handsome. Like small cherubs should be following him, pouring wine out of comically sized vases and throwing flowers. A little breeze from one of the open windows tugged at his golden blonde hair and Gilbert nearly lost it. Even nature had a boner for the guy, apparently.

But the worst part. The thing that made him go from livid to disconsolate in an instant. 

Ludwig’s contrition hadn’t been directed to him. 

And the way Ludwig was staring apologetically at Francis, it was obvious Gilbert may as well not even be in the room. 

He watched Ludwig’s lips move, the soft words not registering. But their cadence was effortless. A familiarity that wasn’t for him. The little gestures of embarrassment, apology. Gilbert couldn’t read them, but Francis’ bright blue eyes tracked every single one with practiced ease. Knew without having to look up in the unwieldy owner’s manual of human relationships what each one was meant to convey.

Gilbert felt a gentle touch to his elbow and turned his head automatically. The girl – Francis’ whatever she was – was looking at him through a curtain of her long, straight bangs.

“They can take a while once they get to talking,” she said, affected courtesy only partially masking the embarrassed note in her voice. “We should let them catch up a bit. It’s been a while.”

“What? Oh – sure.” Gilbert found himself agreeing involuntarily, too lost to not cling to the life preserver thrown his way. Regardless of who was holding the rope. He followed the woman towards the tables along the side of the room, his feelings of distrust and dislike skyrocketing. Which wasn’t fair, he knew. He didn’t know much about Ludwig and Francis’ falling out. Only that she was at the center of it, supposedly. Ludwig hated her, so part of Gilbert felt like he should too. Loyal boyfriend and all of that. The fact that she’d pulled him away out of purported concern for Ludwig and Francis’ relationship-mending made him raise an eyebrow. Martyrs tended not to be the types to break up engagements.

Weird girl.

She picked up a plate and began selecting things, seemingly at random. It took Gilbert a moment to realize she was getting two of everything. Just two.

He cleared his throat.

“Ah – you don’t… I mean, I’m not exactly hungry after that,” he muttered, rubbing a hand against his forehead. The woman gave him a bizarre look and then lifted her plate.

“This is for me. I –uh. I like. Things in pairs?”

Her cheeks turned a light scarlet at her own questioning tone, and she quickly turned back to the food to continue loading up her plate. Gilbert watched her for a few more moments, mildly confused. Jesus, even the back of her neck was red. He decided to spare her any choice commentary he could have come up with and instead grabbed a few things for himself. Mostly chocolate and fried things. Fuck you bacon wrapped figs, not today. Fruit are you kidding me.

He tensed when he found the woman staring at him. He shot her a glare, but her instant-recoil made him remember that he was supposed to be acting polite and charming. And that she really hadn’t done anything wrong. Not to him, anyway.

“What?”

The temptation to be an utter dick was going to be hard to strangle, though.

“…If you’re done, we should retire to a table,” the woman said, holding her plate slightly aloft as she started to weave her way between the other guests. Gilbert cast a glance over his shoulder, but Ludwig and Francis were nowhere to be seen. Perfect. Dream come true, stuck in a fancy room with a bunch of fancy strangers. And all there was to drink was champagne, apparently.

Perfect.

He stormed after the woman instead of throwing his plate against the wall like he wanted to. Because he was an adult and adults handled their problems with aplomb and alcohol and then fistfights because to do anything in the reverse order would be admitting your own immaturity.

She had sat down at one of the more isolated tables, which was a small bit of comfort to Gilbert. She pushed out a chair for him with the toe of one of her pointy shoes and he took a seat without a word. She began nibbling at her food, tucking wayward locks of hair behind her ears whenever they escaped. Gilbert picked at his food, not really hungry but still wanting the prop. Too many shrimps and too many shortcomings to really find much appealing. He eyed the woman from across the table. She’d stolen a cocktail fork and was preoccupied with perfectly bisecting a piece of asparagus. Suddenly she bit her lip and lifted her head.

“I’m – I’m Mei. Mei Tsai,” she said quietly, offering him a weak smile. “The um. The harlot.”

Gilbert raised an eyebrow, not really sure how to respond.

“…Gilbert Weillschmidt,” he said. “…I wasn’t aware we were supposed to have biblical titles.”

Mei laughed weakly and tore apart a piece of spinach. “Yes, well… it’s more the title his mother gave me. L-Ludwig’s, I mean. Not… Francis’. Francis’ mother was actually rather relieved that I – oh. Wow. Oh… gosh, sorry. I’m talking. Way, way too much.” She laughed again and it was so fucking awkward Gilbert wanted to shove the rest of the salad in her mouth out of pure pity.

He stabbed a piece of fried. Something. It had probably been alive in an ocean at one point.

“I didn’t know you met Ludwig’s family, actually, “he said finally. “That’s. Nice. Maybe.” Weird, it was weird as hell. He hadn’t even met them. Or seen pictures beyond the two blurry ones Ludwig had on his phone. Ludwig’s fingers were too big for the smartphone buttons. The camera may as well have been useless. 

Mei worried at her lip and snagged a glass of champagne as a waiter passed. She downed it with the sort of hurried fanaticism normally reserved for underage drinking parties. When the glass was drained she grabbed another, but nursed it instead for a few moments before responding.

“I… I’m not sure how much you know since you’re…” She seemed at a loss for words. “…I don’t know if there’s a nicer way to say it…”

“A rebound?” Gilbert supplied, trying to keep at least some of the rancor out of his voice. 

Mei winced, the smile on her face faltering. “That’s the one…”

Gilbert snorted quietly, grabbing some champagne for himself and knocking it back almost as fast as Mei had. Aplomb taken care of. On to step two.

He set his empty glass down, casting a half-hearted look over his shoulder to see if he could spot Ludwig. Still MIA.

“Didn’t think of myself as a rebound,” he muttered, more to himself than anything. “They split six months ago, so.”

“Eight,” Mei mumbled, her short fingers tapping nervously against her now-empty glass. “But Francis told me that Ludwig… that he’s been a little… promiscuous. Since the breakup.”

“Glad to hear it,” Gilbert muttered, his guts curling like a pit of snakes. He’d had his suspicions. Ludwig had been very suave. Or some other word that was less dated and meaner. Like slutty but without the misogynistic overtones.

He cast Mei another glance, watching her pick at her food. Suspicions were one thing, though. Now he had a witness. And since Ludwig had continually shut down whenever he’d asked about Francis (the whole two times he had) and was conveniently absent now…

Gilbert leaned over and grabbed a passing waiter to steal one of the plates of cheesecake on his tray. Bribery. She seemed to have a handle on plying herself with alcohol, so he needed another in. He propped his elbows up on the table and pushed the cake towards Mei. She eyed it.

“What’s this?”

“Cake,” Gilbert said blandly, easing the plate more towards Mei with the tip of his finger.

Mei blinked her wide, brown eyes and regarded the dessert with mild trepidation.

“For me?”

God it was like pulling teeth. But the utter shock in her voice made some of Gilbert’s ire lose its festering burn. Man she must really hate herself if a stranger offering her cake was enough to make her practically tear up with gratitude. That was unfortunately easy to relate to. Even if he’d never done anything as morally questionable as sleep with an engaged person, everyone had baggage. Things that made them wake up at two in the morning and whisper “oh fuck” to themselves and press their hands against their face and struggle to get back to sleep.

Even to the untrained eye, it was obvious what Mei’s “oh fuck” moment was.

Gilbert shrugged his shoulders. “You seem like a cake person. But I’m guessing you didn’t grab any because taking two of these monster slices would have looked like you were auditioning for a role in Seven or something. Plus you seem kind of down and out, so.”

Mei’s lips twitched up into an empty smile. She fiddled with her cocktail fork.

“…I’m going to hazard a guess. Detective?”

She tugged the plate of cake closer and began cutting it in half. Gilbert stared at her, slightly mystified.

“…What.”

“Guessing your profession,” Mei said, her expression relaxing once the cake was in two, identical pieces. 

Oh, right. Things in pairs.

Gilbert made an ‘ah’ sound and then shook his head.

“Surgeon. Pediatrics and since I’m shit at guessing games and quite frankly pleasantries sound a lot better than anything else I can come up with at this point, I’ll flat out ask what you do for a living.”

“Oh. I’m… well, I’m an on-site reporter for several international news programs,” Mei said, tilting her head to the side. Her hair fell in her eyes and she swiped at it angrily. She even hissed a little bit and muttered, “Knew that hairdresser was lying about that mousse…”

It was irritating. Gilbert was starting to see why Francis had obviously come to find her so endearing. She was no Ludwig, but. She was charming. In a weird, manic pixie girl sort of way. Without the manic. She ate her cheesecake with an odd combination of reluctance and utter gusto, and after every bite she inspected the fork to make sure it was clean before stabbing the cake again.

“Really? A foreign correspondent?” Gilbert said in surprise, giving himself a break from playing the part of intense observer. “So you’re – you’re one of the people who stands in the middle of riots of streets being bombed and reports on it?”

“Well it’s not usually that exciting, but yes. That’s me,” Mei said weakly. “…And ,um… this may come off as rude, but do you really not know me? You must not watch very many news programs… or at least not… not international news.”

Gilbert was instantly on the defensive again.

“I work weird shifts at the hospital. What with all the surgeries on dying children. I don’t really have much time for things like news.”

Fucking hell, Weillschmidt, it wasn’t a contest. Calm down.

“Oh – I didn’t… I didn’t mean it in a pejorative way,” Mei said quickly. “And I think your profession is very noble. You must find it to be quite rewarding.”

Mei’s sincere tone made Gilbert lift his head again. He stared at the woman for a moment, trying to figure out her angle before he gave up. TV personalities were probably used to feigning interest and admiration. And it was obvious she wanted to feel some sort of camaraderie with him. The awkward third and fourth wheels. No other reason why she would be so chummy.

“I do, but it’s rather demanding so I prefer to leave my work at work,” he said as politely as he could. A sudden thought came to him.

“…So the reason you and Francis are here—…that invite wasn’t for Francis.”

Mei shook her head, pushing her empty plate away.

“Francis is my guest this evening. Despite what Ludwig might think, Francis… he isn’t really in the habit of going out of his way to encounter him or humiliate him,” she said, her voice losing its affected cheer. She picked at a small chip in her nail polish, her eyes trained on the task. “…I was supposed to deliver a speech but… I think I’ll tell them to let someone else go instead….”

The glum, resigned tone was so much like Elizaveta’s when she was upset that Gilbert momentarily forgot where he was and who he was with.

“Don’t be dumb,” he muttered, grabbing another two flutes of champagne as a waiter passed. He set one in front of Mei, recoiling slightly at the look of hurt on her face. Oh right. Not Eliza.

“I mean – don’t let those idiots deter you from your job,” he quickly amended, torn between cheerleader mode and surly teenager mode. “Or from being all reporter-y. I mean – that’s… why you’re here, right?”

Mei hesitantly picked up the champagne, her dark eyes unsure as they examined Gilbert from above her glass. 

“Well… yes, but…” She shrugged and took a heavy gulp of the drink. She came up for air, cheeks a bit red. “It’s hard to see Ludwig. I don’t… I don’t dislike him. And I’m used to Francis being friendly and charming with everyone. It’s one of the reasons I like him so much but it’s different with someone he has… history… with. A long history.”

Gilbert toyed with his glass, the temptation to grill Mei for any and all information too strong to ignore any longer.

“…How long were they together, exactly?”

“Six and a half years,” Mei said, letting out a little breath. “Although three of those… months, I mean… they were more or less separated. Ludwig suspected that… that something was going on, but I don’t think he wanted to admit it. And then Francis – he’s… he’s a bit of a showboat… When he moved out Ludwig’s family was there. And he forgot to tell me. Or I guess… ‘forgot.’” She made timid air quotes, as though unsure if she were using them properly. “So when I showed up to pick him up they were all there, it turned into a horrible scene so now… whenever I see Ludwig I get all… panicked. Remembering, I guess, what everyone said about me…”

Gilbert watched Mei sip her champagne, a distant, unreachable look on her face. Six and a half years. Unsure how many of those were good ones and how many were just hanging on. But it didn’t really matter.

“So it was bad?”

Mei offered him a weak smile. “’Heartless bitch’ were the last words Ludwig’s relatives got in,” she said, scratching at her plate with the tip of her fingernail. “I think his mother wanted to finish with the c word but lacked the conviction.”

Gilbert raised an eyebrow. “You don’t sound like you oppose the assessment,” he pointed out, hitting himself when his words caught up with him. The curse of a tongue loosened by alcohol. But Mei merely shrugged and downed her drink.

“I knowingly slept with a man who was engaged to someone else. As much as I hate the word, it… it’s not… inaccurate…” 

Her hands stilled for a moment and she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She really was very pretty, Gilbert observed with a bitter, tipsy detachedness. Smooth skin, a few freckles on her elegant nose. Her dress was tasteful yet obviously expensive, she was charming, unsure… hard to hate. No matter how much he wanted to.

And he really wanted to.

“It’ll be ancient history at some point,” he finally said, grabbing another flute of champagne and throwing it back. Thoughts were starting to creep up on him. Didn’t like it. “Ludwig will let go of his anger or… fuck.” He rubbed a hand over his face. His lips were stinging. He’d probably had enough. “Anger or attraction or… whatever the hell he’s harboring.”

He grabbed another glass just to make himself feel better.

More attraction than anger, probably. Not much else could flip emotions like that so quickly. Make a guy go from spitting mad to salivating at the heels of a poncy would-be aristocrat in a split second. Abandoning his distinctly not-aristocratic date with a woman he couldn’t stand. Always a good sign.

Gilbert grabbed a waiter. Whiskey. Rocks, thanks. The waiter gave him a judgmental look but finally nodded and said he would be back quickly.

Mei waited until the waiter had left before she bobbed her head, letting out a little ‘whoa’ noise and grabbing the table. Five glasses of champagne on a ninety-pound frame. Amazing she was still upright and coherent at all.

“…I hope so,” she said once she’d gotten her balance. “Francis… sometimes I don’t believe he was meant to be with just one person. He loves the fantasy of commitment and the romantic nature of it but he loves… he loves easily. Ideas of people, mostly, I think. And I wouldn’t mind if… if he wanted to expand his world slightly but he insists on adhering to tradition, oddly enough, so… here we are.”

She laughed weakly and lifted her head, and Gilbert felt the alcohol in his stomach roil at the sight of tears in her eyes.

“It’s hard, isn’t it? Loving someone who loves someone else? Even though they’re with you, you can’t always know… I’m not even the jealous type and sometimes I find myself lingering on it…”

“I don’t love Ludwig,” Gilbert muttered, downing another drink out of frantic necessity. The floor swayed nicely. “We’ve been dating a month. And since I’m very much the jealous type, I’m sort of not optimistic about things right now, so how about we change the topic of conversation.”

“O-Oh! Oh… of course,” Mei said quietly, tugging at a lock of her hair. “I’m sorry, I—”

“So tell me more about your job,” Gilbert interrupted. The world was rocking and he’d had enough of this horseshit for one evening. Pleasantries. Vapid conversation starters he used to practice in front of the mirror in high school. 

Mei hesitated, obviously sensing something in the off-kilter sway of Gilbert’s words, but she hesitantly launched into a little spiel about her work. Gilbert forced himself to listen, anchoring his thoughts so they wouldn’t keep drifting around. Floating on the bubbles of too much reject wine.

He lost track of time completely. It wasn’t until the lights dimmed slightly and a stage at the end of the hall lit up that he recalled Mei saying something about a speech. When he turned to ask her when she was heading up there, he was surprised to see her already gone. He searched around in his more recent memories, dragging up her voice. Saying goodbye, that she’d enjoyed their talk, for him to take care of himself. He’d made her laugh, he could still hear her voice, but he couldn’t remember what he’d said. She hadn’t looked angry so nothing too upsetting. Hopefully. 

And the world was still unsteady. It was making him feel sick.

Just as the last of the diplomats and politicians and news people and dignitaries and everyone else five thousand lightyears above his position and pay grade fell silent, Gilbert pushed himself to his feet and stumbled out into the lobby. Everything was gold and black and tile and suddenly his phone was in his hand, the number of a cab company blazing across the screen. He felt himself call for one, autopilot taking over. He had to ask a bellboy what hotel they were in, he’d forgotten, and the look of disdain on the man’s face made him angrier than he thought possible.

And then he was waiting on the curb, somehow. Thanking God that he’d had the foresight to bring his wallet even though Ludwig had said it wasn’t necessary. The cab smelled like cigar smoke. He had to lie down to keep from throwing up, humiliation when the cabbie passed back a plastic bag and asked him to puke in that instead. He clutched the bag against his chest, the crinkling of the plastic loud in his ears. As the cab hit a bump, his cheek pressed more against the faux leather of the seat. A tear in the fabric was rubbing against his skin. Rough. Like fingernails. Mei’s fingernails, chip in the polish. Scratching against her plate.

“Hey.”

The cabbie grunted in response.

Gilbert slowly pushed himself up, clinging to the handrail above the door.

“…Where’re you takin’ me.”

“Address you gave is on Merscher. That right?”

Merscher. His apartment.

“Oh thank God,” Gilbert found himself saying, the unsteady laugh all he really could remember about the last few minutes, even as he continued to speak. “I was afraid you were taking. Me. Okay there’s a place I don’t want to go, so make sure. Sure to go. Where I told you, okay?”

“That’s the nature of the job, boss,” the cabbie said. Gilbert couldn’t tell if he was amused or irritated. “How about you lie down and try and sleep some of that off.”

“Seat’s got fingernails on it,” Gilbert tried to explain, clutching his bag against his chest. He rubbed his fingers against the plastic, liking how smooth it felt. The cabbie said something else, something about if anyone had cut their fingernails in his cab they were fucking dead, but Gilbert couldn’t put the words together well enough to respond.

He managed not to vomit until he was outside of the cab. In fact.

He turned his head slowly, staring through the blades of grass towards the street. The cab was gone. Every cab was gone. And he was very. On the ground. As on the ground as he could get.

With a little grunt, Gilbert managed to pull his legs up under him. He rested his forehead between his knees, the darkness of his closed eyelids the most comforting privacy he could remember knowing. The few passersby along the sidewalk whispered about him, is he dead, should we call the ambulance, and Gilbert would lift a hand and give them a thumbs up and they would move on.

It was a long time before he could work up the courage to go vertical.

“Shit,” Gilbert whispered to himself, squeezing his eyes shut. “Fucking. Shit. My life. I hate my life, I hate the ground just – hold. Still, dammit.”

One foot flat. Slowly shifting weight and—

Aha!

His momentarily triumph at standing up was quickly defeated by another tremendous wave of nausea. It took every ounce of mental fortitude he had to keep the contents of his stomach where they belonged. Slowly, slowly he shuffled up the walk. Braved the steps. Managed to steady himself enough to grab the door handle.

And remembered that his keys were in his jeans pocket.

And his jeans were at Ludwig’s.

Gilbert stared at the door, wondering if maybe he stood there long enough it would open. That seemed logical. He tried the door handle again, expecting a different result. The sign of a looming mental breakdown.

He heard footsteps behind him and then a deep voice.

“Weillschmidt. You smell terrible.”

Gilbert tilted his head back, regretting the decision immediately as the world tipped violently. He gagged and Sadiq took a flying leap back, yelling, “Don’t you fuckin’ dare, Weillschmidt!”

With a heavy groan Gilbert leaned against the door, trying not to throw up. He heard Sadiq cautiously approach him again, hissing under his breath.

“The hell happened to you? You’ve got mud stains all over and why aren’t y—oh.” Sadiq sighed. “No key?”

“Key’s at Ludwig’s,” Gilbert mumbled, keeping his eyes closed. Less chance of vomit that way.

“Ludwig’s?”

“Boyfriend. Blonde. You yelled at him once.”

“I’m just fuckin’ with you, I know who he is. You two’re loud as shit when you go at it. Pretty sure everyone on the block knows his name.”

“…Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. It’s okay. You just keep bribin’ the neighbors with those cookies you make at Christmas, no one’ll say anythin’. Plus Ludwig’s easy on the eyes, think the female residents’re willin’ to let it slide for that reason alone.”

“He is easy on the eyes,” Gilbert mumbled, rubbing his face against the door. Felt weird. “An’ I think… we might be fighting?”

“That why you’re tryin’ to make it with the door? Or is the vomit on your shirt the reason why?”

“Drunk,” Gilbert confirmed. “Ludwig… uh.” He frowned slightly and then carefully turned around. Sadiq was a big, brown blob in his vision.

“You don’t care.”

“Nah, not really,” Sadiq admitted, hoisting his grocery bag up a bit higher so he could fish around in his pocket. “You can tell me if you want. But come on, I’ll be neighbor of the year, let you use my sink to scrub the dried puke off your face.”

“You are a saint,” Gilbert mumbled, stumbling after Sadiq into his apartment. Luckily it was a mirror image layout of his own, and Sadiq had very little furniture. Otherwise there might have been problems. “Very. Saint. Saint Sadiq.”

“Does have a nice ring to it, doesn’t it. Shirt off, stay on the tile. Don’t touch anythin’.”

Gilbert wordlessly obeyed the orders, but then froze.

“Hey.”

Sadiq let out a little ‘hm?’ as he unloaded his groceries.

“My pants are shaking.”

Sadiq paused and glanced over at Gilbert.

“Your what.”

“Pants. Shaking,” Gilbert repeated, making an anxious noise.

Sadiq furrowed his brow and then let out an exasperated groan. “Your fuckin’ phone’s vibratin’. You are one stupid shit when you get hammered. Think I would’ve remembered that from watchin’ the game with you every week for the past few months.”

Gilbert made an ‘oooh’ noise and quickly fished out his phone. He stared at the screen, forcing his brain to read the words. It took forever. Excruciating. 

/Gilbert where the hell are you?! Mei said she left you at your table when she went to make her speech!/

Gilbert frowned and then carefully typed back a reply.

/Apartment. Sadiq. Bring my key bie./

He held his phone out in the vague direction of his neighbor.

“Is this right? Spells. Spelling.”

“Dunno, not gonna read it. Send it anyway,” Sadiq said absently, shoving the last of his food in his freezer before heading over to Gilbert. He handed him a roll of paper towels. “Face in the sink. Scrub until you stop smellin’. I’ll get you some clothes you can borrow.”

“Thanks,” Gilbert mumbled, hitting send and shoving his phone back in his pocket. He turned on the water and watched it pour into the basin for a few moments. It was pretty. Very haunting or… or something. Somehow.

He shoved his face under the stream, fighting back a yelp. Cold. Cold cold cold.

As quickly as he could he cleaned himself off and blotted his face dry with a wad of paper towels. He felt something soft land at his feet.

“Tug those on. I don’t want you trackin’ stomach acid through my apartment.”

Gilbert nodded and slowly got undressed. It took an age but finally he sat down on the couch, Sadiq’s sweatpants hanging low on his hips. He plucked at the soft fabric, absently noting the label.

“…Why do you have designer… sweatpants…”

“Better question is why doesn’t everyone,” Sadiq droned, tossing Gilbert’s phone into his lap. “Here. Don’t wanna send this to the cleaners by accident.”

Gilbert ran his thumb over the blue notification light and then turned it on. There was a message. Much easier to read than the last one.

/You left?/

Easier to read. Harder to gauge the meaning. Accusatory? Shocked? Mere commentary, acknowledging his absence?

“Cryptic bastard,” Gilbert muttered, starting to get a bit worked up. Meant he was regressing alcohol stages. Down from incoherent into surly. Great. He typed back a reply and set his phone on the coffee table. Where there was coffee. Or tea. Something hot in a cup.

“Drink it.”

Gilbert nodded wordlessly and sipped at the liquid. It was warm and sweet and there was a game on television. He stared at the screen, scraping together enough brain cells to make out things like score and uniform colors. Beyond that, though, he just enjoyed the moving pictures. Sadiq was sitting in the arm chair, sipping at his coffee as though drinking a cup at one in the morning while your neighbor sat half naked on your couch was a normal thing. Nothing phased the guy. Not when Gilbert had moved in, not when three cats had suddenly appeared and then disappeared, when he’d had a yelling match with Elizaveta and cried in the middle of the hallway. Sadiq had just handed him a handkerchief, told him dry clean only, and then stepped into his apartment.

Gilbert turned his head away from the screen, staring curiously at Sadiq.

“…You’re really weird,” he observed. “What’s… there’s… there’s gotta be something in it for you.”

“Always nice to have your motives questioned,” Sadiq deadpanned, sticking a cartridge in his fancy cigarette thing. “The answer’s nothin’, Weillschmidt. Sometimes people’re nice ‘cause they’ve seen too many movies or have a hero complex. Sometimes they think it’s funny their doctor neighbor threw up all over himself. Sometimes they just do whatever comes to mind. Usually it’s the second to last one.”

“You’re an ass.”

“Yeah, they tell me.”

Gilbert snorted quiet, but there was a small smile on his face. He fell silent and closed his eyes, listening to the game. It was calming. The steady roar of the crowd. Bellowing announcers. Simple.

Deep voices clawed at him. Picking apart the cotton of sleep around his ears.

“…t in the hallway. He said he forgot his key, I happened to be passin’ by. Nice conspiracy theory, though. I’ll file that one away.”

“You could have had him call me – you could have called me! I’ve been worried sick—”

“Look, Mr. Schmidt, that’s really not my problem. I saw my neighbor lookin’ half dead, I helped. But thanks, though. Always nice t’ be yelled at for your trouble.”

“I wasn’t yelling.”

“’Kay. Well whatever. Just get him outta here. His clothes’re in a pile on the kitchen floor. Take those too.”

Gilbert felt the soft surface underneath him bounce slightly as someone sat down. He fought to open his eyes, but before he could he was being lifted up off the couch. Which of course made him panic and struggle like a snared animal.

“Shit – Gilbert, calm down! I’m going to drop you!”

Gilbert fell reluctantly still, the deep voice finally registering. He opened his eyes and tilted his head back. Ludwig’s irritated face swam in his vision. Like that floating head in Power Rangers that gave the rangers their orders. It was generally pissed off.

“…I can walk,” he mumbled. “Put me down.”

It took a moment, but Ludwig did finally set him down. Gilbert steadied himself and then padded over into the kitchen. He gathered up his clothes.

“I’ll get these back to you, Sadiq. Dry cleaned?”

“Please.”

“Sure th—oh god.”

Gilbert braced himself against the counter, listening to Sadiq curse and threaten to kick him out on the street if he threw up in his apartment. Gilbert took a moment to give the world time to settle down and then carefully stood up, his clothes clutched against his chest.

Right.

He managed somehow to get out into the hallway. His apartment door was wide open – Ludwig’s work, no doubt – and he gratefully stumbled inside and making a beeline for the bathroom. Toothbrush. His mouth tasted like a sock. Ludwig was following him like a shadow, he could tell. Just as silent, only a little bit out of sight. He heard the door close, the sound of someone sitting down on the couch. He was content to let Ludwig wait, another layer of alcohol peeling away to reveal the exhausted core. Really all he wanted to do was sleep, but knowing Ludwig, that wouldn’t be an option. He peered around the bathroom door, and sure enough a very irritated blonde was on his couch, staring daggers at the floor.

After contemplating how long he could stall brushing his teeth versus the amount of wear and tear it would put on his enamel, Gilbert finally gave in. He splashed some more water on his face, deemed himself sober enough to endure a bit of light verbal lashing, and then slunk into the living room. He could feel Ludwig’s eyes on him as he got settled in the armchair across from the sofa, and that nearly set him off. When he finally lifted his gaze to meet Ludwig’s, he was unsurprised to see absolute fury in his expression.

Less unsurprised to see a total lack of contrition. 

“Do you have any idea how panicked I was?”

Gilbert fought not to roll his eyes and remained still.

“You weren’t exactly there to tell me,” he pointed out, too tired to put much fight into his voice. 

He saw Ludwig stiffen, a look of guilt finally crossing his face before he restrained it again.

“I was out in the lobby. You could have come—”

“Look, Ludwig, I appreciate how pissed off at me you are, but I’m too drunk and too tired to do this now,” Gilbert muttered, pulling his knees up to his chest so he could rest his forehead on them. “Yell at me or whatever, just don’t expect me to have a conversation.”

“…I can’t – you got drunk. At a black tie event. Where everyone could see.”

“And you got into a pissing contest with your ex and then probably found an unlocked broom closet to have a quickie in, ‘where everyone could see,’” Gilbert intoned, tightening his grip around his knees. “And I know people can’t see into closed broom closets, we lack the technology. Don’t point it out, I’ll get m-mad. Madder. Madder than… f-fuck.”

Gilbert squeezed his eyes shut, another wave of nausea making him regret owning bubblegum-flavored toothpaste. He could hear Ludwig saying something, something angry and probably mean, but he tuned it out. Too busy doing other things. Recalling.

Right, there it was. The little glimpse of the table right before he’d left. After Mei had gone up on stage. There were drops on the surface, only a few. Littering the dark, cherry wood. Scratching their way down his cheeks. That was all he could recall. Mildly terrifying, the rest was all gaps. But the back seat of the cab was probably ruined from them, too. The grass outside. The front door. His knees. Forearms when he rubbed them across his face.

“…eed to cry like a child. God… you are drunk.”

“Can you just go away?” Gilbert said hoarsely, not really caring what Ludwig had said. Didn’t matter, fifty-fifty chance he wouldn’t remember it the next morning. “If you’re not going to be nice and apologize or… pretend to apologize or even kiss me or express your worry in a way that doesn’t make me feel like a scolded kid then can you go away? Please?”

He heard nothing.

Fucking finally.

When he lifted his head, Ludwig was gone.

He blinked the salt out of his eyes, picked it off his eyelashes. Okay. First fight, not a problem. Totally fixable. When he was less drunk and probably more angry. Fixable.

Gilbert pushed himself out of the armchair and headed down the short hall towards his bedroom. He’d left the light on in the bathroom. He opened the door and reached up to flick the switch, but then he froze. Ludwig was sitting on the rim of the bathtub, his head in his hands. His collar was messed up. Soaked. Tie undone.

Gilbert slowly lowered his hand, staring at Ludwig. The other man didn’t say anything. Gilbert wasn’t even sure he knew he was there.

“…Ludwig.”

Ah… dammit. His voice wasn’t supposed to sound that soft and kind. He wanted to be meaner. He deserved to be meaner.

Ludwig lifted his head, but kept his eyes averted. They were puffy.

Gilbert let out a little sigh.

“What are you doing in here?”

Ludwig remained quiet for a moment, his fingers digging into his knees.

“…I was hoping this would be away enough for you,” he said quietly. “But if you want further, then… I can go.”

Gilbert could only stare at Ludwig, the anger he’d carefully started to construct crushed by Ludwig’s words. Even the foundation cracked. Spider-thread thin, but it was there. 

He held out a hand towards Ludwig.

“Come on,” he said quietly. “We both know that’s too far.”

Ludwig lifted his head, his expression as weary as Gilbert felt. After a moment’s hesitation, he cautiously rested his hand in Gilbert’s. As though afraid he would shatter it.

Gilbert hoisted Ludwig to his feet and dusted him off.

“I’m afraid I only have the one pair of designer sweatpants,” he said, leading Ludwig into his bedroom.

“It’s fine. I can wear whatever,” Ludwig said quietly, undoing his tie. Gilbert nodded and rummaged around in his closet. He tossed a pair of boxers and an oversized shirt Ludwig’s way before tugging off his filthy glasses and crawling into bed. He listened to the sounds of Ludwig getting ready. Rustling fabric. The squeak of the faucet handle in the bathroom. Gurgling of water as it was sucked down the drain. They were comforting sounds. Homey and wonderful, the ones he loved listening to as a kid. The sounds of a house being lived in.

He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting off exhaustion. One question. He had to ask the one, he had to ask it or he’d go insane.

The bed dipped as Ludwig settled down next to him. Their shoulders touched. The bed was too small for two, really, but they’d made it work in the past. When they’d stayed up until three in the morning talking. Ludwig watching him play video games on his DS. Reading to one another stupid passages from their books, falling asleep with the lights on and Gilbert’s glasses askew.

Gilbert curled up on his side, staring at the wall. Doing his best not to touch, but not to run. Find the balance.

“Ludwig.”

The springs squeaked.

“Yeah.”

Gilbert said it before he could doubt. Or wonder if it even needed to be said at all.

“So you still love him.”

Thick silence smothered the room. Gilbert listened to the clock in the kitchen tick. A few drunken voices drifting up from outside. The female ones laughing. The male ones laughing and violent. Crashing of bottles on the street.

Ludwig breathing. Raspy.

“I-I’m terrified it’ll never go away.”

Gilbert pushed himself up on his elbow to glance over his shoulder at Ludwig. He was on his stomach, his face pressed into the pillow. Gilbert sat, back against the wall.

“I don’t love you,” he said, his toes nudging Ludwig’s side. “Might someday. Don’t know yet.” He ran his fingers through his hair, wincing when they got caught. Oh right. Gel. “Point is, things change. If it doesn’t go away, it doesn’t. Not something you have control over. And that’s not what I’m mad about, anyway. It’s. Something we can talk about tomorrow. When it’s light out. Hate talking about sad stuff in the dark. Dunno why.”

Ludwig sat up as well, tugging the pillow to rest in his lap. He regarded Gilbert with a tired solemnity.

“…I don’t love you, too,” he said quietly. “Not sure if you were waiting to hear that.”

Gilbert let out a puff of air, halfway between a laugh and a sigh.

“We’re crazy romantic.”

“Right. Next I’ll be confessing I’m just a gold digging hussy.”

“Sad news for you, Ludwig the hussy. Student loans are a bitch. I’m probably the poorest surgeon alive right now.”

Ludwig laughed at that, the noise relieved and exhausted. He scrubbed at his face.

“So is now when I apologize, or is that for after you’ve yelled at me properly.”

“Oh, after. Unless you’re crying I don’t think I can even count it,” Gilbert said, lying down.

“Awfully sadistic of you.”

“You’re the one who gave me the option. Blame yourself.”

Ludwig just snorted quietly as he got settled as well. He rolled over onto his side, and even in the dark and the fuzz of nearsightedness, Gilbert could see two blue specks regarding him solemnly.

“…Am I still allowed to hold you?”

Gilbert shrugged, tugging the covers up to his chin.

“I probably have puke somewhere on me. So I’ll let you decide if you want to take that ri—”

Before he’d even finished speaking, Ludwig was close, his arm wrapped around his waist and his head tucked underneath his chin. Gilbert felt something in his chest well up too quickly, like an overinflated balloon or a tire about to burst. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fucking fair, he’d spent the past who knew how many hours crying over Ludwig, over how mean and thoughtless he was and how he was in love with someone else and just because Gilbert didn’t love him yet didn’t mean that didn’t fucking suck. And now Ludwig was being sweet and kind and attentive and it was more than Gilbert’s alcohol-soaked brain could handle. He closed his eyes, not caring that he was probably all tense and uncomfortable to sleep next to, or that Ludwig had the broken spring pushing up against him (which was why Gilbert never slept on that side of the mattress anyway). All he wanted was sleep.

And within minutes, he passed out.

There were foggy periods of half-wakefulness when he felt things pushed into his hands. The smooth, damp side of a glass. Chalky pills. More water, the plastic handle of a bucket and he felt his insides writhe and strain but nothing came out.

And then it was morning. Somehow.

Gilbert stared at the ceiling of his bedroom, wondering when, exactly, he’d woken up. No transition. Usually he hit his alarm several times, leaving only a dim impression of his idiocy behind when he woke up for real. He couldn’t remember his alarm going off. Not even a hazy half-recollection.

Someone had pulled all the curtains shut in his room. It was impossible to guess the time, and without his glasses the red numbers on the bedside clock were just little blood puddles suspended in the air.

Gilbert let his hand fall to the side, wincing when his fingers caught the edge of something sharp and plastic.

Oh God Ludwig never let me drink that much again I hate this I fucking hate this

It’s okay, get it out of your system, you’ll feel better

Gilbert felt around the edges of the bucket, the bits of color amidst the blackness of the night before not making him feel much better. Crying. Lots of that. Some vomiting. 

Gilbert let out a slow breath and let his arm fall across his face.

Last night him was an idiot.

This was what he hated. He’d puke his guts out a thousand times for any reason other than ‘I got incredibly depressed and knowingly and willingly poisoned my body with the stupidest of alcoholic drinks and then had to have my semi-estranged boyfriend tend to me during my horrible fever dream of an evening.’

…And whose pants were these.

After a good deal of mentally psyching himself up, Gilbert managed to swing his legs over the side of the bed and stand up. His glasses were where he could vaguely remember leaving them, although the lenses were so smudged and filthy they may as well have been covered in Scotch tape. Gilbert halfheartedly cleaned them on the unfamiliar sweatpants and then made a beeline for the bathroom. He could hear someone moving around in the kitchen, but he’d be damned if he faced Ludwig before he felt human.

A quick shower and teeth-brush later, Gilbert forced himself to stop stalling. He cautiously made his way into the kitchen, pausing at the little divide between the carpet and the linoleum. Ludwig was standing in front of the stove, a look of intense concentration on his face. There were eggs in the pan. Ludwig was poking them with a fork, jumping a bit when they let out a little spluttering noise.

“…Dammit,” he softly cursed, shaking the pan. “Can’t even cook a fucking egg…”

Gilbert mentally winced. That didn’t bode well. Beating himself up over breakfast foods at—oh shit, one in the afternoon. He cleared his throat before he startled Ludwig by speaking. Guy would probably burn the hell out of himself. Most likely scenario.

“Afternoon.”

Ludwig looked up from the pan, wet, blonde hair falling in his bloodshot eyes. He gave a little nod and gestured to the pan.

“You hated this particular set of cookware, right. So when you can’t get burned egg off of it you will be…”

“Relived. Fucking thing had it coming.”

Ludwig gave him a crooked smile, grateful, and turned back to the stove. Gilbert pushed himself up onto the counter, his head throbbing slightly and a vague sense of illness seeping in his nerves. But not as bad as it should have been.

“I owe you a good deal of thanks for last night, by the way,” he said suddenly, his fingers twitching against the phantom glass of water in his hands. “So if you want to ruin a few more pans, go for it.”

“Just the one should be enough. But you’re welcome,” Ludwig said quietly, speaking to the egg. “Since… I mean. I’m the reason you ended up like that…”

A bit of residual anger burst to life in Gilbert’s stomach. Of all the useless words that still clung to the fibers of his brain, he could remember only a few important ones. But they were enough to start stoking the forge again.

Sorry

Spoken not to him.

You’re right

The hesitant smile on Ludwig’s face, the audible click as his personality met with Francis’. The sight of their shoulders touching from across the room. The way Francis had adjusted Ludwig’s tie. Ludwig hadn’t stopped him, had laughed, said something teasing from the way his eyes lit up. Relaxing on the balls of his feet, his hands shoved into pockets to keep from giving too much himself away.

How happy he’d looked.

How at ease.

Gilbert had read the atmosphere with studied skill. Saw the line drawn on the floor from a two second glance over his shoulder. Like the lines he used to see at the threshold of the borrowed rooms he’d lived in. During birthdays and Christmases. Family reunions. There was always the invite, his foster families had been polite and kind, but their eyes glazed over when they looked at him. Like he was a piece of furniture they needed to hide in a back room before the company got there. And so he’d smile and retreat to watch from the tops of the steps and from around corners, feeling like a stranger in his own house. Watching the shadows dance in the warm light spilling on the floor, listening to the easy voices. The inside jokes. About Uncle Erwin’s horrible ties. Aunt Heike’s trip to Russia. Stephan’s grades. Madeline’s dance recital. They were growing up so fast, weren’t they, shooting up like weeds. 

The lines were put there by the kindness of knowledge. That it would be better if he stayed back. Better for everyone. No awkward stranger to try and speak with. No swallowing jokes or stories because they didn’t want to be rude if not everyone shared them. 

He was still just a stranger to Ludwig. Allowed to peer down the stairs and around the corners at Ludwig’s past. To see the shadows on polished hardwood floors and have the fun of guessing at their shapes, their movements, their gentle touches. To smell gingerbread and cake and mulled wine, listen to the crackling hearth and be graciously allowed to imagine its warmth. To be placed gently in a back room, covered with plastic to keep from getting dusty until he was stumbled upon again. Dragged out into the house, expected to match with everything that had changed while he’d been somewhere else and everything special was gone from the room. No bread, no fire, no shadows kissing. To be scolded when he didn’t smile, when he wasn’t grateful to be let out of the room at all, when he wanted more, cried for closeness and belonging, just a simple touch to have the assurance that he was there, that someone could feel him, that he existed.

A foster boyfriend.

Gilbert let out a slow breath to try and keep everything bottled up. Just for a minute longer.

“Right,” he said quietly. “Fair warning, we’re about to get into a fight. So decide if you want to save that pathetic thing or throw it out for some cannibalistic pigeons. I’m probably going to need something horrible to eat afterwards. You can take me out to get a burger or pizza or something.”

The dial on the stove clicked into the off position. Ludwig tilted the pan onto a plate and the egg flopped uselessly onto the ceramic surface. He moved to the sink next to where Gilbert was sitting and began to clean the pan.

“So we’re scheduling our fights now?”

“We’re scheduling this one,” Gilbert muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. “I have a brief window here where I’m not throwing up and not passed out and I plan to take advantage of it.”

“Fair enough.”

Ludwig set the pan in the drying rack and grabbed a towel. He wiped off his hands and then headed into the living room. There were two mugs of coffee on the table on front of the sofa. One looked more like melted ice cream. Gilbert grabbed it automatically and sat down on the floor. Ludwig took a seat on the sofa but made no move to touch his own coffee.

They regarded each other in silence for a long moment before Ludwig spoke.

“Am I going first or second.”

“Second.”

Gilbert took a few gulps of coffee, set the mug down, and then let himself get angry. One by one the threads holding his patience together snapped. He let his temperance fall dangerously close to collapsing completely before he exploded.

It was mostly just curse words. Long, inventive strings of them. At one point he was fairly sure he used the word ‘prick’ twice in a row, but he threw it in once more for good measure. Because Ludwig had been a fucking prick. The dictionary definition. Abandoning him for an ex at a fancy party where he was the only one he knew. But more to the point –

“Was I even there to you?! The moment Francis showed up – did I spontaneously cease to exist?! And this isn’t rhetorical question time. Tell me if you even remembered I was there!”

Oh shit when had he stood up. 

And when had he started crying again.

Gilbert stared down at Ludwig, still sitting on the couch. His shoulders were hunched, fists balled at his sides. Not making eye contact. He may as well have had a giant neon sign that said ‘emotionally repressed’ pointing right at him.

Gilbert forced himself to count to five. On seven, Ludwig opened his mouth.

“I didn’t.”

Gilbert stood a moment longer, processing.

“Oh.”

He sat back down and picked up his coffee again. Something to do. Something to hold, something warm. He tried to let it calm him but he still felt like he needed to run. Flight, definitely flight, Ludwig had a blank look on his face that spoke of sociopathic tendencies Gilbert wasn’t ready to tussle with.

He took a sip of coffee instead, the warmth oozing into his guts.

“Well we haven’t been dating that long.”

No.

“It shouldn’t be surprising, I guess. Probably better that it’s happening now before we get too much more involved.”

No, no. Why the hell was he defending him, what kind of sick self-preservation move was this. Gilbert could only listen to the echo of the voice in his skull, too shocked and too hungover to rescind anything.

Ludwig finally reached out for his coffee. He rested the mug in his lap, blue eyes fixed on it.

“It’s why I was so attentive last night, I guess. After I got done being angry,” Ludwig said quietly. “Guilt.”

He lifted his head. 

“And you shouldn’t defend me. That’s – if I’m allowed to get mad about one thing, can it be that?”

Gilbert silently gestured with his coffee. Sure. Go nuts. Whatever anger he’d been stockpiling was gone. He just wanted to be alone and nurse his hangover. Clearly there was something unremarkable about him. Something that made people forget he was a human being who could feel and express things other than disdain or sarcasm. He’d known it when he was a kid. Probably good to get a refresher course as an adult.

Ludwig let out a sharp breath and then lowered his head.

“Last night – it was the first time I’d seen Francis in over half a year. And I’m sure you noticed, he has this… this air about him that makes him hard to ignore.”

“…He did give off a sort of vibe. I guess,” Gilbert muttered, sinking more into unresponsiveness. “But if you’re just going to wax poetic about your ex then I’m declaring your turn over.”

“No. God no, that’s – not it at all,” Ludwig said quickly, starting to get a bit worked up. Something of a relief. The dead robot on the couch had been terrifying. “It’s so easy to be with him. We’ve known each other for so long… since high school, actually, and with you. It’s not… it isn’t easy. I make you mad, I hurt you still and you’re so hard to read. You have this depth that just – it’s like trying to map a cave system. You think you’ve found the end but then you push aside a rock and there’s a completely new vein and you have no idea where it goes, if you’ll end up hurt or if the tunnel will collapse or if you’ll fall into an underground lake and drown—”

“Now I know you’re just describing the plot of a horror movie to stall,” Gilbert said dully.

“—and it’s terrifying. I’ve never… I’ve never cared this much before,” Ludwig continued, his voice losing steam for a moment before picking up again. “I’ve never cared about… mapping a person before. Knowing where the pitfalls were before I fell into them. With Francis, I saw him date so many other people. I was the one he came to when he needed to vent, I kept careful track of what he’d hated, why he’d broken off the relationship. And I thought I was perfect. That I knew everything that would set him off, that would make him leave and so when he did anyway… I was so. Lost. And I still feel like I am. I know you physically really… well. Kind of embarrassingly well for this point in a relationship but mentally it’s hard. I don’t know if you want to talk about your childhood, for instance. Or if you would break down if I brought it up. I want to know about your foster families, where you went to school, what – what your favorite sandwich was as a kid growing up but that stuff sounds so stupid and shallow so I keep trying to figure it out on my own. And last night… I just needed a break. I needed something familiar. It wasn’t fair to you, and I know that you won’t care that half the time Francis and I talked it was just Francis apologizing and saying how good it was to see me and me giving him the cold shoulder like a snubbed teenager but I’m telling you anyway because I. I don’t. I don’t want to give up. I just needed to remember that.”

Ludwig fell silent after that, save for few, quiet words. “But if that’s how you feel about me then… then maybe we should do as you say. I don’t want to treat you like you’re just a mystery I can work on when it’s convenient for me.”

Gilbert furrowed his brow, trying to process all of that. Nothing was moving very well in his head. 

“…How I feel about you… you mean the insults?”

Ludwig nodded, thick fingers cradling the mug in his hands.

“If you want to call this the end of the line.”

Gilbert frowned for a moment before realization dawned.

“Oh you stupid jackass. That – that wasn’t me breaking up with you,” he groaned, letting his head fall down to rest against the coffee table. “And don’t’ fucking do that, just ask me. And don’t call me a cave system. I don’t like it.”

“Oh. I. I didn’t realize you’d feel that strongly about metaphors,” Ludwig said softly, but there was a note of utter relief in his voice that finally got through to Gilbert. “…So we’re not breaking up?”

“No. You prick,” Gilbert mumbled, crossing his arms on the table so he could rest his head on them. “We’re not breaking up. I’m still mad and no matter how poetic you get or how many times you hold my hair back to let me puke in the toilet I’m still going to be mad. But it’ll go away. Just don’t… don’t make it come back again. P-Please. Don’t forget I exist.”

“I won’t,” Ludwig said quietly, his voice tense. “I won’t. I couldn’t –”

“Well you did so that argument is moot.”

Ludwig fell quiet again, long enough that Gilbert started to feel guilty. But before he could say anything, Ludwig spoke again.

“What are you doing for Christmas?”

Gilbert lifted his head to stare at Ludwig, unsure if he’d heard right.

“…Uh. I usually work,” he said slowly, “Since I get to play the part of the martyr. Work on Christmas, everyone feels sorry for me since I do it every year, no family, quality sob story, etcetera. Lots of cookies and gifts in return.”

“Do you think you could get off this year?”

“…Probably. They’ve been trying to get me to take turns for a while now.”

Ludwig licked his lips, his eyes darting off to the side. Gilbert waited patiently for him to collect his thoughts, a tiny warmth growing in his stomach. When Ludwig still hadn’t said anything after nearly ten seconds, Gilbert said, “If you’re building up to something other than asking me to join you for Christmas, I will be really pissed.”

Ludwig let out a weak laugh, finally meeting Gilbert’s eyes for the first time that morning.

“No, no. I am,” he said, fingers twisting in his borrowed shirt. “If you want to, of course. My family… they’re huge – both in number and size – and obnoxious but if you wanted to… I’d. I’d like that. A lot.”

“And this isn’t just a pity invite?” Gilbert pressed, leaning across the table a bit. “Pity Christmas sucks. I’d rather spend it giving people catheters, to be honest.”

“Not a pity invite. Or a guilty one,” Ludwig said, his lips curling up in a smile. “Just a… ‘my boyfriend should probably meet my family at some point, so why not traumatize him and drive him away forever by making it during the holidays’ invite. Nothing special.”

Gilbert pursed his lips, his stomach not liking the constant emotional ups and downs on top of the lingering nausea.

“…If there’s pie, then no amount of family awkwardness will be enough to keep me away,” he finally said. “Is there pie.”

“…Probably,” Ludwig said after a moment’s thought. “We have it catered every year, so…”

“Catered?!”

Ludwig blinked.

“Well… yes. I bake some things but there’s really too many people… and for the formal Christmas party we have guests from my family’s companies…”

Companies. Plural.

Gilbert sat back, feeling dazed. Not just from the hangover.

“…Think I’m starting to get what you mean by feeling lost,” he said. “We… shit. We really don’t know each other at all, do we.” He lifted his head to meet Ludwig’s eyes. “…What are we doing?”

“Learning. I think,” Ludwig said quietly. “Badly and slowly, maybe. Especially on my part.” He glanced at the clock and stood up. “I have a meeting at five, so if you were serious about food then we need to get going.”

“I wasn’t. I’m not, don’t talk about food,” Gilbert mumbled, lying down and pressing his hands against his eyes.

“That’s what I thought. I’ll clean up a bit for you but then I have to get going.”

“’Kay.”

Gilbert listened to Ludwig putter around the kitchen and living room for a bit before he thought to ask.

“Do you know whose pants these are?”

“Whose – oh. Your neighbor’s. The terrifying one.”

“…Oh no,” Gilbert said weakly. “Ludwig, are they in good condition?”

He felt footsteps approach, and then a moment later Ludwig said quietly, “There’s puke on one of the thighs.”

“Fuck,” Gilbert whimpered. “Sadiq is going to kill me.”

Ludwig laughed and knelt down next to him, lightly patting his head.

“He already seems to hate me. Just tell him I told you where to aim. I’ll bear the brunt of his wrath.”

Gilbert groaned in quiet relief and spread his fingers slightly to peer up at Ludwig.

“You do love me,” he mumbled, the heaviness of the words registering a split second later. Ah shit. 

Ludwig’s expression faltered and the hand in his hair stilled for a moment. But before Gilbert could pass the words off as the joke they were, Ludwig smiled. Hesitant and shy.

“Maybe,” he said, leaning down to press a kiss to Gilbert’s forehead. “Guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”


	10. TEN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s done. It’s over, it’s done, and it’s really, really late. The chapter, obviously. Fic still has a ways to go. But I really am sorry. I hope you all don’t mind extending the general holiday-theme one day past its expiration date.
> 
> Happy Boxing Day everyone this is my gift to you I guess. Enjoy!

“Two more. Answer the question.”

Gilbert grunted softly, staring up at the florescent lights.

“You’re trying to murder me, aren’t you,” he groaned, his arms straining as he pushed up the bar.

“Yes, with all of these hulked-out witnesses around, this is where I have chosen to take your life.”

Ludwig grinned down at him from his massive height, wiggling his fingers just underneath the bar.

“And I have to say you’re practically doing the job for me. Is that all you’ve got, Doctor? I’ll let you stop if you just answer the question.”

“Ludwig please I’m dying—”

“Most requested birthday gift item growing up – answer it!”

“Fuck – Fine, okay?!” Gilbert snapped, his voice wobbling with exhaustion. “Maruchan instant lunch! Happy?!”

Ludwig burst out laughing, to the point where he had to grab the bar and help Gilbert shelve it since he couldn’t spot him properly anymore. Gilbert let out a little groan and pushed himself up, rubbing his bicep.

“God and Buddha you really are trying to kill me,” he muttered, tugging his shirt up to wipe sweat from his forehead. “It wasn’t that funny.”

“I can assure you it was,” Ludwig said with another loud snort of laughter. “You said it was embarrassing – I was expecting something more lewd.”

“Just picture a tiny child exploding with excitement when every single gift he opened was a bulk-pack of instant ramen purchased from a warehouse store. That foster family was so fucking relieved. I even got moved the week after so I couldn’t take all of the cups with me.”

Ludwig’s gaze softened for a moment, and after a bit he reached out with the towel to wipe a bead of sweat off of Gilbert’s nose.

“So when you donate blood, do they label the bag ‘chicken’ or ‘shrimp’?” he asked gently, laughing again when Gilbert hit him upside the head.

“So mean,” Gilbert muttered, pushing himself off the bench and grabbing the spray to wipe it down. “These little ‘bond and sweat’ sessions were your idea. Why do I have to suffer.”

“Underdeveloped triceps seem to be the main reason,” Ludwig said helpfully, grabbing a few more weights and sliding them on. Gilbert just rolled his eyes and took his position as the spotter, looking around the gym while he waited for his boyfriend to get settled. It was a nice gym. Situated above a health foods store, of course, right downtown. New equipment, running track, small lap pool downstairs, large glass windows that looked straight across the busy street into an office complex. Lots of men and women in designer workout clothes, hardly sweating. Not for lack of effort. Gilbert was fairly sure they’d all plastic-surgeried their pores shut. Two women in the corner were full-out sprinting on treadmills and somehow their skin was a veritable desert of acne-free Caucasian expanse. Gilbert felt disgusting in comparison. Hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, glasses slipping down his nose so often he was tempted to wear those nerdy ones that had a strap dangling from the ear pieces.

A soft grunt made him focus on Ludwig again, and he kept his hands out of the way while the other man did his reps. Ludwig worked in silence, pale eyes trained straight ahead. If Gilbert weren’t so utterly exhausted he would’ve admired the view a bit more. Bulging muscles, glistening skin, assassin-ready posture, all that. Whatever.

“Am I supposed to ask you a question?”

Ludwig just gave a little nod, letting out a slow breath.

Gilbert hummed in thought, tapping his fingers lightly against the bar rest. It had been two weeks since their big fight. The only fight they’d had, but Ludwig was acting differently. Too attentive, almost. He came by the hospital for lunch nearly every day. Constantly invited Gilbert to work out with him, go to the movies, to a play, out to dinner. It was nice in it’s own… stalkerish fanaticism way, but since Gilbert was taking off for the holidays (which Roderich had been pissed as hell about since apparently the hospital was ‘accustomed to his presence’ around this time of the year) he was having to work double and triple shifts to make up for it. This little outing to the gym was the first invite he’d managed to make. It was getting harder and harder to say no since Ludwig obviously still felt guilty, but he was just so… so bad at this. Overcompensating to the point of smothering, asking weird, random questions in a way- too business-like manner to be anything but staged.

Like now, for example. Gilbert was fairly sure Ludwig was employing a legit interrogation technique. Suspend a heavy bar like a guillotine over the suspect’s throat, have them hold it up until their arms gave out while rapid-firing questions at them.

…The UN probably would take umbrage.

Gilbert let out a little sigh and, like the dutiful boyfriend he was, played along.

“Pets?”

“All at my parent’s,” Ludwig answered immediately, grunting just a bit as he pushed up the weights. “Three dogs. Wanted to take them but. Homeowner’s association. Still wrestling. With them.”

“So I’ll get to meet them in a few weeks?”

Ludwig just grunted in response.

Gilbert fell silent again, hoping that was enough, but after just a bit Ludwig asked in a strained voice, “N-Next?”

“Next – oh! Uh… okay.” Gilbert racked his brain for a question. “High school?”

“I attended, yes, and you already asked that one,” Ludwig said, his voice growing a bit weak. “C-Catholic. School. Remember? You pointed out the irony and—”

“And asked to see pictures of you in your uniform, I remember,” Gilbert muttered, swiping his fingers through his sweaty hair. Thankfully that was the end of Ludwig’s set, and he carefully helped him ease the bar back onto its rest. Ludwig let out a little groan and pushed himself up, shaking out his arms. He gave Gilbert a smile, and some of Gilbert’s exhaustion and irritation bled away.

“It’s a lot easier to work harder with you here,” Ludwig said, standing up and moving to wipe down the bench. “I can push myself more.”

“Spoken like a true jock,” Gilbert said fondly, clapping Ludwig on the shoulder. Ludwig straightened up and fixed him with a rather scrutinizing look.

“…You don’t like this, do you.”

Gilbert opened his mouth to scoff and say what of course he did, but then he remembered their other little fight just two nights ago. About him tiptoeing around Ludwig and saying yes to everything. He rubbed at his face and then shook his head.

“Working out with you is great. I love ripping my muscles apart – haven’t done it properly since track, but I… ugh.” He tilted his head back and stared apologetically at Ludwig.

“I hate the Q and A stuff. It feels so… artificial. I know I said I wanted to get to know you better but this is just forced and awkward and – and it turns out I’m absolute shit at making up questions. The worst ever.”

Ludwig looked away, his expression crumpling a bit. He wiped his face with the sleeve of his T-shirt before he nodded and mumbled, “I had a feeling. You’ve just been so busy lately and I wanted to expedite things. It wasn’t like this with Francis and I don’t know how to fix –”

Ludwig immediately winced and backed away from Gilbert’s little glare.

“Sorry…”

Gilbert clicked his tongue and grabbed his towel, moving on to the last station Ludwig had assigned them in this carousel of tortures. Leg press. Finally something he was decent at.

“You’re allowed to talk about him,” Gilbert reminded Ludwig, grabbing a hundred-pound weight and wrestling it on the apparatus. “Just stop talking about ‘fixing’ things. We’re not broken. Although for the record, just to remind you, I’m not Fr—”

“You’re not Francis. I know.”

“Then we’re good.”

Gilbert settled down in the seat and began his reps, resting his hands on his thighs. Ludwig stared down at him, looking a bit miserable. To the point where Gilbert reached out and hit him on the leg.

“Stop that.”

“Trying.”

“I’m not mad.”

“I know.”

“I treasure you.”

That finally got Ludwig to smile. He clutched at his chest, his eyes crinkling around the corners with fake misery.

“That joke. It’s so old already and it’s only been two weeks.”

“Look, buddy, if you get all sentimental watching ‘Old Yeller’ and break down to tell me that you ‘treasure our relationship,’ I’m gonna fucking mock you for the rest of our foreseeable time together,” Gilbert reminded Ludwig, pushing up the weights one last time with a little grunt. He locked them in place and sat back, his legs burning nicely.

“I knew it was too early in the relationship to bust out the saddest movie of all time,” Ludwig mumbled, offering Gilbert a hand up, which he took with a thankful groan.

“Saddest movie –so ‘Life is Beautiful’ didn’t make the cut?”

Ludwig gave him a blank look. Gilbert frowned and tried again.

“‘Schindler’s List’? ‘Mr. Holland’s Opus’? … ‘Dead Poets Society’?”

“Are those movies?” Ludwig asked weakly. “I was only allowed to watch ones from a certain list growing up…”

“And your parents put ‘Old Yeller’ on there?” Gilbert said incredulously. “Holy shit. I don’t agree with your ranking of it as saddest movie ever but Jesus Christ your parents are slightly twisted.”

“My younger cousins were over a lot so it was Disney or nothing,” Ludwig tried to explain, grabbing his towel and heading towards the exit. “Vash and Lilly – I told you about them, right?”

“Uh… no, you didn’t,” said Gilbert very slowly, unable to keep from grinning. He suddenly laughed and punched Ludwig’s shoulder. “For the record, this is how you should find out more about people. Not by tormenting them with weight lifting equipment.”

“And suddenly you’re the resident expert on how not to lose boyfriends, I see how it is,” Ludwig grumbled, but there was a relieved smile on his face. “...And did you really hate working out that much?”

“No, you nerd, I didn’t hate working out with you,” Gilbert said patiently, hitting Ludwig again. “If I weren’t so busy I’d come every other day like you do.”

“...ry day…”

Gilbert raised an eyebrow. “Come again?”

Ludwig let out a heavy breath, pushing open the door to the locker room. Blissfully empty.

“I’ve been coming every day, lately,” he admitted, quickly adding, “I know, I know – don’t give me that look. It’s bad to work out as hard as I do every day. I should give my muscles time to recover but… I’m so restless. I’ve been on edge, I suppose.”

“Because of our fight?” Gilbert asked curiously, stripping and throwing his (borrowed) workout clothes into Ludwig’s gym bag. Ludwig didn’t say anything, but finally he nodded.

“It’s the first time I’ve hurt someone else so badly and been entirely in the wrong about it,” he said quietly, “And with… around Francis. Like I said I feel kind of out of control. I move on autopilot and that really… god it fucking pissed me off. I hate that I automatically default to treating him like he’s a human being instead of a sentient piece of rancid crow shit.” He slammed his locker shut and Gilbert took a tiny step away.

“...Well I’ve already forgiven you,” Gilbert reminded him, rubbing the back of his neck. “So there’s no need to keep beating yourself up about it to this degree. Or I mean if you wanted to keep trying to make it up to me, gifts and bribes are always well-received. There’s that new Playstation everyone’s been talking about… I hear it’s really expensive and super popular with pediatric surgeons this year.”

Ludwig gave him a bizarre look and then burst into laughter.

“You greedy little shit. I’m trying to emote here.”

“Look, greed is an emotion too! I’m just joining in!”

Ludwig rolled his eyes and reached out to grab him, but Gilbert danced just out of reach, tugging on his boxers as he did so.

“And for the record, I think it’s okay to de-vilify your ex-fiancée,” he said, regaining his balance and reaching into the locker to tug out the rest of his clothes. “You might find it even makes your life a little easier. Learning to let go, I mean.”

“Yes, thank you for the advice from the peanut gallery,” Ludwig grumbled, yanking off his shirt. “Believe me when I say I’ve tried. Everything short of satanic rituals.”

“Well if you’re stopping before ritual sacrifice, I think you have to ask yourself ‘am I really giving this my all?’” Gilbert deadpanned, grinning when that earned another laugh from Ludwig.

“I do have that spare goat I keep around for such occasions. I suppose I could part with it before the solstice,” Ludwig finally said, grabbing his towel. He moved to Gilbert’s side, resting a hand on his hip and giving his forehead a little kiss. “I’m going to take a shower.”

“God, please do,” Gilbert said, gagging and pushing Ludwig away. “You smell like the inside of a ski boot.”

“I love it when you get oddly specific,” Ludwig murmured, kissing Gilbert’s forehead again and laughing when his boyfriend pushed him away twice as hard. Ludwig headed into the shower and, after a moment’s indecision, Gilbert tugged off his boxers and followed him. They were the only two in the locker room. Thank God, because their shower ended up taking quite a bit longer than it should have. For reasons.

“L-Ludwig,” Gilbert gasped, his hand slipping down his boyfriend’s chest. “Soap – soap in my eye, get it out—”

“Just give me… a second,” Ludwig said in a weak, breathy voice, tugging Gilbert’s knee a bit firmer against him. “Kind of really close to something h-here—”

“How is you humping my leg more important than impending blindness – Ludwig for fuck’s sake!” Gilbert groaned, ignoring the slight stinging in his eyeball as Ludwig’s hand squeezed his inner thigh.

A sudden burst of voices made them jerk apart so quickly Gilbert slipped and had to catch himself by grabbing onto the shower handle. He stared across the space at Ludwig, able to see his full-body flush even through the steam. He grinned and whispered just loud enough to be heard over the water, “Karma.”

“Didn’t know you had a stripper name,” Ludwig whispered back, an embarrassed but amused grin on his face. He stood up and turned around to face the wall, pretending to shower just as another guy stepped in. Gilbert mimicked him, doing his best to avoid saying fuck it and jerking off. Somehow not as sexy now that there wasn’t another leg between his own.

He blinked water out of his eyes, wincing.

Shampoo in the cornea didn’t help either.

He got showered and dressed in record time, suddenly wanting to be out of the public eye. Could have something to do with Ludwig whispering in his ear every moment he got about what they were going to do when they got home. Maybe.

“Not on the roof,” Gilbert said for what felt like the millionth time as he adjusted his bag and kicked open the door to the locker room. “I’m mildly acrophobic and I definitely do not need the whole city to get a good glimpse of my dick. Didn’t even go streaking in college despite the fact that every other jackass in my frat went.”

“Holy mother of God. You were in a fraternity?!” Ludwig let out an ungainly snort, clutching at his sides. Gilbert gave him a sour look.

“And suddenly trivia about Gilbert becomes comedy hour,” he grumbled, thudding down the stairs into the whole foods store.

“When you inform me you were a member of a fraternal organization – and not one of the ones where they just accepted the rejects who couldn’t get into any others, right?”

“Goodness, someone’s being a judgmental bitch tonight. What did the boys of Sigma Sigma Sigma ever do to you,” Gilbert drawled, fishing out his phone and tapping the text messenger icon. “And not that it matters but I was in an honors frat. So you’re only halfway right about it being the loser one.”

“Halfway right sounds a little conservative to me,” Ludwig mused, dodging a punch from Gilbert. “Although to my discredit I don’t know a lot about fraternities, so I suppose I shouldn’t judge.”

“No, you should. They’re more or less what the stereotypes make them out to be,” Gilbert said, deleting a couple messages. “I joined one because I was desperate for a family of any kind. And here’s where you play the sad violin music and cut to my tragic back story.”

When Ludwig didn’t immediately respond with some sarcastic quip, Gilbert glanced up from his phone, curious. Ludwig looked away, his face slightly pale and Gilbert couldn’t completely stifle his sigh.

“What.”

“I – am I allowed to joke about that?” Ludwig asked hesitantly, giving Gilbert an almost nervous look. “After what you said… Even someone like me can connect the threads and see that it bothered you. I can’t empathize, I mean… I feel like I had too much family at times, but am I allowed –”

“Go nuts,” said Gilbert, as reassuringly as he could. “Seriously, don’t worry about it. It bothers me when I’m trying to sleep at night sometimes, but more in a ‘if I get dementia who will take care of me’ kind of way. Since it’s pretty obvious I’m not going to have kids of my own. And – all right holidays are depressing sometimes but I’m pretty used to it. More or less. Had twenty nine years to get used to it, so. ‘Bout time.”

“So you… never knew? Anything?” said Ludwig, even more subdued.

Gilbert shook his head and went back to his phone, considering the topic over.

“Oh.”

Ludwig moved just a bit closer, and after a moment offered Gilbert his hand. Gilbert took it without hesitation, continuing to respond to a text.

“Sorry, I know I’m being crazy rude,” he muttered, concentrating. “Bel’s brother is in town. He wants to know if I can meet him for pool next week…”

“Ah… speaking of next week…”

“Yeah, when are we leaving for your quaint country villa?”

“More ‘obnoxious sprawling mansion’ than villa, but that’s what I need to talk to you about.”

Gilbert stopped in his tracks and turned to stare at Ludwig, panic seizing him for one horrible moment.

“Your parents don’t want me there?” he blurted out, ashamed that his voice jumped nearly half an octave.

Ludwig stopped as well, confused, before he said quickly, “No! I mean – yes, they want you there! God…” He laughed weakly and hit himself on the forehead. “Stupid phrasing. I’m sorry.”

“…Oh,” Gilbert mumbled, swallowing around a lump in his throat that wouldn’t go away. “Okay. I thought – I know you just asked them a few days ago. I wasn’t sure if you were trying to spare my feelings.”

“It’s nothing like that,” Ludwig promised, holding out a hand for Gilbert again. “But it’s not… really good news, either.”

“It’s a really good thing you don’t work at a hospital. I’m sure you’d kill more kids’ parents with your wording choices than patients under the knife,” Gilbert grumbled, taking Ludwig’s hand again. “So what’s this not good news?”

Ludwig let out a heavy sigh and then said grouchily, “I’m heading out to Brussels again. I won’t be getting back until very late on the twenty fourth. More like the morning of the twenty fifth.”

Gilbert thought about that for a moment before his face turned white.

“My non- transferable tickets are for the twenty third.”

“Which means you’ll have to go without me,” said Ludwig, offering Gilbert an apologetic look. “I know it’s a lot to ask, especially since you haven’t met them—”

“I could just get a hotel or something,” Gilbert said casually, but he was sure Ludwig could feel his complete and utter terror thanks to the sudden death-grip he had on his boyfriend’s hand. “I don’t want to show up at your parent’s alleged mansion without you. That’d be—”

“They said it was fine,” Ludwig gently interrupted, tugging on Gilbert’s arm. “If you don’t want to then you can… I don’t know. Do something. I’ll buy you another ticket, I guess. But really they said it would be fine. Give you a chance to get used to things before the rest of my relatives arrive. And I promise my parents are nice people. My mom’s very… warm. That’s a good word for her, I think, and my dad is strict but kind. And very quiet. You won’t need to talk to him much.”

“But won’t they think it’s weird?” said Gilbert. “Like – oh, hello, yes I’ve been boning your son for several months, yes we practically live together half the time even though I’ve been on night shift for the past few weeks so the only intimacy we’ve had has been conducted within the tiled confines of the local city gym shower.”

“Please do not tell my parents about our sex life,” Ludwig said quickly. “I know dealing with parents is probably something of a novel concept for you so I’ll just let you know right now they’re not really into hearing about their children boning anything or anyone. Synonyms for the act are also out.”

Gilbert laughed, the noise strained. 

“Porking?”

Ludwig shook his head.

“Beast with two backs.”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Making love.”

Ludwig paused, as though considering it, and then made a face.

“Even if it’s slightly more palatable to my parents I would freak out. You know I hate that phrase.”

“Because you don’t love me,” Gilbert clarified, the back and forth calming him.

Ludwig snorted and rolled his eyes, but his lips twitched up in a small smile.

“Something like that,” was all he said, and then fell silent again.

It turned out that not only was Ludwig going to be late to his parent’s, but that he was leaving the day after next. Gilbert had thrown a mini tantrum, not liking being left out of the loop until Ludwig told him that he’d only just found out himself a few days ago. Gilbert was more inclined to let it slide after that, but he warned Ludwig to tell him in the future important things like international business trips slightly more than just a couple days in advance, please, he’d really wanted Ludwig to meet Ned.

But then hell shifts kicked in anew, and until the evening of the twenty third, Gilbert was overwhelmed, miserable, sleep deprived, and a general nightmare to be around. The twenty-eight hour shifts were starting to get to him, and no matter how good he was at taking thirty minute power naps on his desk when he wasn’t on call for trauma or emergency, the human body could only function without proper sleep for so long. Then things started to get weird.

Gilbert was fairly sure the nun riding in the elevator was real. But honestly she could have been a hallucination.

…The fact that her habit was pink wasn’t exactly helping him discern reality from sleep-deprivation illusion.

When he wasn’t busy napping, removing unconscious children’s’ spleens or livers, he was enduring his staff. Eliza was keeping her distance (she’d asked for the holidays off as well but hadn’t gotten permission, so she was in a horrible, horrible mood) and Bel wouldn’t shut up about her brother. Surly, cantankerous, constantly-inebriated Ned. That last part probably wasn’t true, but most of their time together was spent in bars getting various degrees of sloshed, so Gilbert had a slightly biased impression of the man. 

Ned was scarcely taller than Gilbert, but his skyscraperian hairstyle made him seem taller. That, and he carried himself as though he were made of those trucks they carted huge amounts of money in. Fucking untouchable. His reticence didn’t soften the imposing image any. When they’d met for the first time in med school, Gilbert wasn’t sure what to make of the stone-faced man, but three shots and twenty minutes of sarcastic quips later quickly endeared the chain-smoker to him. He only came to visit three times a year or so, but Bel always invited him to go out drinking with them and they always got way, way too drunk together. Way too drunk and way too verbally intimate. Ned knew far, far too much about the inner workings of his brain thanks to med-school exhaustion and a propensity towards vodka in the other man’s presence.

Gilbert wasn’t really looking forward to the plane ride post-Ned visit.

Gilbert was in the middle of a power-napping with his head pillowed on his suitcase. Half power-napping half sulking, really. Last shift complete. Hence the power-nap. He’d be catching his plane (alone) to Ludwig’s parent’s house. Alone. Without anyone else. 

Hence the sulking.

A gentle kick to his side made him open his eyes. He pushed himself up off the couch, not needing his glasses to see who it was. He grinned up at the other man and returned the kick.

“There’s no smoking in the hospital, jackass.”

Ned raised an eyebrow, the cigarette between his lips moving to the side so he could speak.

“It’s not lit.”

“And you’re just as monotone as ever,” Gilbert said cheerfully, pushing himself up. “And just as addicted to those disgusting things.”

“Did I need to inflect those words. Make them whineier, maybe, so you’ll take pity on me and stop being such a little bitch,” Ned muttered, wincing when his sister kneed him in the spine.

“You’re late,” she cheerfully informed him. “Gilbert’s plane leaves in four hours so we won’t be able to do our normal bar-hop.”

Ned pursed his lips and said nothing. Bel laughed and translated for Gilbert. “He’s disappointed. He wanted to hustle you again.”

“I’m sure,” Gilbert drawled, hoisting his bag over his shoulder. “You’ve gotta pay for my cab ride to the airport, too. Just so you know.”

“Fuckin’ sadist. Didn’t sign up for this,” Ned grumbled, yanking Gilbert’s bag away so he could carry it instead. Gilbert rolled his eyes but didn’t fight the chivalry. “Still treating me like I’m made of glass, I see,” he said, following the siblings out of the lounge. 

“Someone’s gotta take care of your pathetic ass. Arms’re too skinny to carry this monstrosity anyway,” Ned muttered, and then fell silent. Thankfully his sister was there to fill the silence. The entire way to the bar, Bel didn’t stop needling her brother about his new girlfriend. Some Italian chick Bel had a dubious opinion of. She was still going by the time the train pulled into downtown.

“—and really who uses Snapchat that much?! It’s excessive. Not to mention all of her posts are complaining about her sister which, hello, white trash much?”

Ned calmly reached over and pressed his hand over his sister’s mouth, gesturing towards the end of the street. “Bar. Gilbert, order me my usual.”

“You got it,” Gilbert said cheerfully, so tired he would have agreed to just about anything. He staggered into the nearly-empty bar, leaving the siblings to bicker outside in their loveable way. It was approaching nine at night. Still too early for the serious bar-enthusiasts. Too late for the dinner crowd that normally flooded the trendy-traditional place during the day. Taxidermy animals were apparently in vogue nowadays. Who knew.

Gilbert plunked down in one of the oaken stools next to the bar and ordered two whiskeys, neet, and then slowly sipped at his own. Ned settled down next to him after a minute, placing Gilbert’s bag on the bartop. They drank in silence together for a moment, Bel sitting next to her brother and immediately engaging the bartender in conversation. 

Ned suddenly lit another cigarette and blew a smoke ring up towards the ceiling.

“Bel says you take it up the ass now.”

Bel let out a whiny ‘ouch’ when Gilbert chucked a cocktail peanut at her eyeball.

“Bel is misinformed,” Gilbert muttered, grabbing his whiskey and tottering over to the pool table. He probably should have eaten something before drinking. Ned followed him over, grabbing a cue and setting up the game. 

“So you give it up the ass.”

“We’ll just say I’m intimately involved with a dude with a penis and leave it at that,” Gilbert said, flipping a coin to determine who would break.

“And why’s he not here. Scared of me.”

“Hardly. He’s being all international man of mystery in Brussels right now.”

Ned took the break, sinking one of the stripes. Great. Gilbert could feel his wallet getting lighter by the second.

“You sound angrier than usual. Things not going well.”

“They’re going really well.” Gilbert lined up his shot, cursing when he missed. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

“They had a fight the other day,” Bel said, sitting on the edge of the table. Gilbert swiped at her with his pool cue, growling when she easily dodged. 

“Harpy! Stay out of my business!”

“You’re incredibly obvious! And when you’re grouchy at work it becomes my business! The children are terrified of him, you know. He’s losing his ‘cool doctor guy’ reputation. Gave away his video game collection to sickly children for naught.”

Gilbert just rolled his eyes and sulked all through Ned’s turn. The other man finally stood up straight, giving Gilbert a sideways look.

“So he’s making you stressed. And you already have a naturally stress-inclined disposition. Do I need to have a talk with this guy.”

That got Gilbert to crack a smile. “…Nah,” he said finally, managing to sink his next shot. “Maybe if he pulls another stunt like pining after his ex again.”

“Sounds like a real winner,” Ned muttered, scowling at the table. “I’m in town until the middle of January. Bring him by. I want to talk to him.”

“Yeesh, all right,” Gilbert said with a little roll of his eyes. “I don’t actually need a protective older brother, you know.”

“Yes you do.”

“Yeah, you kinda do.”

Bel and Ned exchanged little looks before Bel burst into laughter and Ned lit another cigarette. Gilbert just rolled his eyes again, wondering why, exactly, he found it necessary to divulge his entire life’s story to someone he saw once every four months. Ned was just easily to talk to. His sister as well, but constant proximity and work-relations made it a bit different, for some reason. And in the end it was always bittersweet to be with them. They had such an easy air with one another. The same sense of humor. The same bright green eyes, same wry curl of their mouths when they smiled. Family, emotionally and physically. And even though they did their best to include him, Gilbert could feel the distance growing between them as it always did. With every sip of whiskey and every ball sunk in a pocket, every gentle pat on his back from Ned or Bel. Camaraderie, but that’s where it stopped. Where it always had for him.

Maybe that’s why he drank so much around them. Even when it was a really fucking bad idea to do so. Like when he’d had a total of five hours of sleep over the past three days.

And then conversation turned to Ned and Bel’s parents. Their cousins who would be visiting. Conversation Gilbert couldn’t participate in – wouldn’t have been able to even if he’d had more than three brain cells left to his name – and the distance grew. Worse, it made him remember just where he was heading off to in – he checked his watch and paled – an hour and fifteen minutes.

“Guys,” he said suddenly, interrupting Bel’s current rant about Aunt Maxine and her ridiculous obsession with long-haired cats. The siblings stared at him, Ned arching an eyebrow. Gilbert stared back, trying to remember what he was worried about. Shit. He could barely remember two seconds ago, let alone form an emotional response to anything or remember what the concept of ‘worry’ felt like.

Oh shit.

“…Guys please tell me I’m not drunk,” he whimpered. 

“Gil, you’ve had two whiskeys. You’re just exhausted,” Bel said soothingly, sliding off the pool table to give him a little pat on the shoulder. “We probably shouldn’t have kept you out, but we’re selfish bastards. What time’s your flight again?”

It took Gilbert nearly ten seconds to remember.

“Eleven fifteen.”

“Eleven – oh shit.”

Bel immediately pulled out her cell phone and started talking a mile a minute. Gilbert blinked in confusion and glanced up questioningly at Ned. Ned just tapped Gilbert’s wrist.

“It’s ten forty now.”

“Oh.”

Gilbert’s eyes widened and he stared at his watch hand.

“Oh no – …oh no, the little one marks hours,” he whispered, fascinated by the hands of the clock slowly ticking.

“As far as I know.”

Gilbert felt a finger gently press against the small of his back, and he blindly followed where it led him, his head full of static and little else. He couldn’t even remember what day it was. If he’d remembered to lock his apartment the last time he’d been there.

Or where he was going. It took physical effort just to think more than two steps ahead. He clambered into the taxi at Bel’s gentle prompting, pillowing his head on her shoulder. He stared blankly at the back of the cabbie’s head, throat tightening. He may not have been able to grasp the higher concept of ‘anxiety,’ but it sure as hell didn’t keep it from wrecking physical havoc on his sub-conscious.

“Bel I don’t wanna go.”

She gently flicked his forehead.

“Why?”

Gilbert made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat, but didn’t answer. He tensed when Ned lightly pinched his neck, and the other man snorted.

“It’s not atypical. No one enjoys meeting their in-laws.”

“I’m not marrying Ludwig, Ned,” Gilbert muttered petulantly. 

“Close enough.”

“No it’s not – dating and marriage are actually pretty far apart, you know. Like. Pancake batter and… and pancakes. Can’t eat pancake batter. Or you could but. Puking. Dating is like puking. Marriage is like pancake.”

“Nah. You’re gonna marry him.”

Gilbert whined softly and kicked Ned’s shin. The guy didn’t seem to have even felt it.

“You’ve been listening to your sister too much. Getting crazy… weird. People Magazine ideas.”

“Oh, thanks, Gil.”

“I’m always right. That’s what it boils down to.”

“You were horribly wrong about that last shot.”

“But I’m right about this.” Ned tugged on Gilbert’s arm to pull him vertical. Gilbert groaned at the manhandling, but met Ned’s eyes, watching his friend through half-lidded eyes. Ned quirked an eyebrow.

“…You didn’t shut up about him this entire evening.”

“Most – most of that was complaining,” Gilbert mumbled, averting his gaze. “Like… seventy… seventy six percent. Roughly.”

“About how you wished he were there.”

Gilbert pressed his lips together, recognizing that he lacked the higher-thought skills to argue.

Ned raised his other eyebrow.

“You never wished Eliza came to our things with us. You didn’t give a shit if she met me. Why is it important for Ludwig to.”

“’Cause – ‘cause you’re one of my families,” Gilbert mumbled. “And he… he’s making me meet his. So… he should have to meet my sorry substitutes. That I don’t look anything like or… or share any familial traits. With. Other than also being a loser.”

“Thanks for that.”

“You know what I mean.”

The taxi pulled to a stop in front of the terminal. Gilbert stared out the windows at the frosty lights, the cold already seeping into his bones from the sight of so many people bundled up in their winter gear.

“…I changed my mind,” he said decisively. “I need to be drunk for this. Can we—bar. Again. Please.”

Ned clapped him on the back and got out, dragging Gilbert’s suitcase with him. “Too late.”

Gilbert whined softly as Bel kicked him in the spine to get him out of the taxi. He reluctantly slid out and took his bag when Ned pressed it into his hand. Ned regarded him silently for a moment and then leaned down to butt his forehead against his.

“Bel told me he made you cry.”

Gilbert scowled.

“…That’s not necessarily hard to do when I’m stressed,” he mumbled. “Sometimes a paper cut or – w-well, those suck all the time. So let’s say… a rogue olive on my pizza. Green, not black. Sometimes a renegade olive’s all it takes. Boom. Tears. Oscar quality.”

“Don’t care.” 

Ned rested his hand on the back of Gilbert’s neck, squeezing gently.

“If it’s too much, you can always have Christmas with us again. Our parents will be slightly less horrible this year. Promise.”

Gilbert fell silent, squirming uncomfortably when Bel continued to prod his spine with one brazen knuckle.

“We will be blaming our sappiness on the alcohol,” she said firmly. “But the invitation is real, okay? If his parents end up being the stuck up bastards you think they’ll be, you can always run away.”

Gilbert let the invitation fall into the depth of his brain, knowing he’d never seriously consider intruding on a family event of theirs again. Too lonely being the only person in the room without green eyes and auburn hair and a wry smile. But still he patted Bel’s arm and picked himself up a bit straighter. Putting on all the airs of normalcy he could.

“I’ll be okay,” he said firmly. “They’ll like me. Or they should, because I’m a hot doctor. Who’s good with kids. And is beloved by animals. A regular… regular Saint Francis. Un-bald Francis. Also no robes. They’ll love me.”

“Just keep telling yourself that,” Ned drawled, pushing Gilbert towards the terminal. “Go, have fun. Report to my sister if you want, I still don’t have a cell phone.”

“You’re so weird,” Gilbert muttered, hoisting his bag over his shoulder. He stood still, trying to figure out which airline company his ticket was from. He heard a heavy sigh in his ear, and a moment later Ned dragged him over towards the proper terminal.

“How long has it been since you slept properly.”

“Dunno,” Gilbert said, watching Ned punch in the confirmation number for him into the screen that would print his ticket. “A couple days.”

“How long’s the plane ride.”

“An hour and a half.”

“Sleep during it.”

“Yes, Dad.”

“Don’t sass your father.”

Gilbert just snorted tiredly and took the ticket from Ned. He gave the man a little grin. “New Year’s. You’ll meet Ludwig, ‘cause you’ve earned it. For punching in number for me.”

“Holding you to that.” Ned grabbed Gilbert’s hand and then pulled a marker out of his pocket. He scribbled something for a moment and then let go.

“There. That’s a map to your terminal. Follow it blindly because you only have ten minutes to catch your flight and I’m half tempted to stall you as long as possible. For my own amusement.”

“What – you ass!”

Gilbert took off up the escalator, pausing at the top to flip Ned off. The man was standing at the bottom, a shit-eating smirk on his face. His expression returned to neutral and he turned around, waving over his shoulder. Gilbert glanced down at the ‘map,’ unsurprised to find that it just spelled out ‘enjoy your gaycation.’ 

“Immature jackass,” Gilbert muttered, guessing as to what his terminal number was. Adrenaline and whiskey were the only things fueling him by the time he found the right number, enduring the steward’s icy smile and the glares of the other passengers as he slid into his seat. The moment his ass touched the uncomfortable cushion, exhaustion hit him like a ton of bricks. He didn’t even have time to feel anxious about meeting Ludwig’s family, although the empty seat next to him made his stomach clench painfully just before he passed out, right in the middle of the safety demo.

He awoke to a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Sir? Sir, we’ve arrived.”

Gilbert pushed himself up, his eyes stinging horribly. He squinted into the bright lights, trying to make out who was talking to him. “Oh – oh, okay,” he mumbled, not sure as to what that meant he was supposed to do. Arriving. Meant… stop? Moving? 

The woman sighed.

“We need you to disembark, sir.”

Gilbert gave the woman a blank look, her face swimming in his vision. She stared back and then said flatly, “Please get off the plane, sir.”

Oh.

Right.

Obviously the hour and a half’s worth of sleep hadn’t done much to un-Neanderthal his frontal cortex.

Gilbert quickly grabbed his bag and scooted out between the seats. He managed somehow to get into the terminal without falling asleep on any of the moving sidewalks. Miracle, considering how soothing they were. Following the flow of the crowd seemed to be a good thing to do, and he ended up outside at the taxi stand. Miracle number two. Just one more to saint hood.

As he was about to crawl into an empty cab, entrusting his fate to the surly man chain-smoking behind the wheel, he caught sight of his name, hovering in the distance. What. What was his name doing

Being held by

Some

Stuffy person in a suit.

Gilbert managed to extract himself from the cab and shuffled over, staring at the man. He was a slightly older gentleman with neatly combed and oiled hair. He graced Gilbert with a confused smile below a trimmed moustache.

“…Doctor Gilbert Weillschmidt?” he said pleasantly, raising one salt-and-pepper eyebrow. Of course he’d be British. Sounded gruntled enough, though.

“Yeah – I’m. That guy,” Gilbert said slowly, still unsure what was going on. He was so tired he couldn’t process what was actually happening and what he was (probably) hallucinating. It was the nun all over again. The man chuckled and gestured to the side. 

“The Schmidts sent me. Ludwig told me you’d be rather tired and, as he put it, ‘out of your mind,’” the man said politely, walking towards a black town car.

“Yeah – wait.” Gilbert paused, just needing to confirm something. “You’re not kidnapping me. Just to check.”

The man chuckled quietly and opened one of the car doors.

“You’re every bit as hilarious as Ludwig said you would be, Doctor Weillschmidt.”

Gilbert warily eyed the man but then decided that he didn’t really care at that point if he were heading into a Taken situation or not as long as he could sleep on the way. He slid into the car and stared out the window as they pulled away from the airport. Where were they. He couldn’t even remember what town Ludwig said his parents lived in. But obviously it was a ski-resort area judging by the number of people with crazy shaped luggage with goggles around their necks. He pressed his nose against the glass, transfixed by the snow-capped mountains in the distance. And all the trees. So many fucking trees.

“I’m going to level with you, Jeeves, I’m pretty out of my mind exhausted right now. To steal Ludwig’s phrasing,” Gilbert said slowly, unable to look away from the mountains.

“That’s quite all right. You’re more than welcome to sleep.”

“Yeah. Okay. Could – uh, could I get a name. Maybe.”

“Mine, Doctor?”

“Yeah – and you can drop the doctor bit. Please. Feels weird outside of a hospital.”

“Of course. And I’m the Schmidt family driver and financial manager. The Schmidts are a rather casual family, so you may call me by my first name. Gerald will do quite nicely.”

Gilbert side-eyed the man, furrowing his brow. God, no. Please no. Ludwig’s family did not have a ‘driver’ of all things. It was bad enough that Ludwig had one for his fancy government job, but a family one?

“No shit?”

“No shit,” the man confirmed. “Although my main job is assisting Mr. Schmidt with his finances. The driver part is merely because the Schmidts like my car and know I have difficulty saying no to requests, no matter how strange. Such as ‘would you mind picking up our son’s mysterious boyfriend at the airport at an ungodly hour of the night. By the way, he will be mostly incoherent, so please ensure that he does not injure himself or others.’”

“So you’re a pushover of an accountant,” Gilbert summarized, “And – yeah, I. Sorry. Ludwig’s supposed to be here with me—”

“I have been informed of your situation,” Gerald said pleasantly, smiling at Gilbert in the rearview mirror. “Rather dastardly of him to send you into the lion’s den alone.”

“Yeah – yeah. We’ve… had words about it,” Gilbert mumbled, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Well if it’s some comfort to you, the Schmidts are a lovely family. Lisa is Ludwig’s mother. Very warm, very charming. His father Wolfgang is a bit severe, but Lisa tends to do the talking for both of them, so as long as you doff your cap and all that and call him ‘Mr. Schmidt’ I doubt you’ll make a poor impression. Lisa’s sister Emelie is there as well now, with her husband Paul and their children Vash and Lily. The rest of the family will be arriving Christmas Eve, along with Ludwig. You’ll have tomorrow to acclimate to the family, although I suspect you’ll be roped into helping Lisa with the baked goods in Ludwig’s stead. She doesn’t trust the caterers to do a good job with them.”

“Ah… right. Caterers,” Gilbert mumbled, his heart rate picking up. Catered Christmas parties, huge families…

He fished his phone out of his pocket, staring sadly at the screen wavering in his vision. No new messages from Ludwig. He was probably already asleep, getting ready for his big meeting the next day. Gilbert didn’t want to bother him. Couldn’t bother him. If Ludwig fucked up his presentation then what was the point of them being apart…

In the front seat, Gerald chuckled quiet and then said in a surprisingly gentle tone, “Why don’t you sleep, Doctor? We’re still two hours away.”

“I should,” Gilbert mumbled, sinking lower in the leather seat. He watched the trees flash by the window, the pattern almost hypnotizing him into a shallow sleep.

A sudden change in incline made Gilbert start awake. He stared out the window, his mouth falling open slightly as he caught sight of the scenery on the other side of the glass. A thick coating of snow clung to the branches of the evergreens that spread out beyond the steep road. Moonlight caught the ice crystals, casting the branches into a nebulous glow, full of stars. A warm light at the far end of the road made Gilbert shift to look through the windshield. Through the trees, he could see the outline of a house, tucked into the base of one of the mountains. It looked like it might be taken out by an avalanche at any moment it hugged the steep sides of the slope so closely. Its roof was lined with Christmas lights, each lantern marking the edges of the driveway covered in wreathes. The house itself was massive. Three stories, circle driveway, double-door entryway, wings extending into the dark woods on either side.

“…It looks like a mansion for gingerbread men,” Gilbert mumbled to himself. He winced when Gerald laughed, not realizing he’d said that loud enough to be heard.

“I’m sure Lisa will be delighted to hear you say that,” the man said, pulling into the circle drive. “Christmas is Ludwig’s favorite holiday. The only way Lisa can get him to take time off and visit during the year is by bribing him with all of the trappings of a traditional celebration.”

“…They not get along?” Gilbert asked nervously, suddenly realizing that in all the flurry of work and saying goodbye to Ludwig he’d forgotten to ask him if he was even on good terms with his parents.

“Oh no, quite the opposite,” Gerald said, stopping the car. “The Schmidts are very close. But Ludwig, as I’m sure you know, has difficulty balancing his personal life and his work life.” He unbuckled his seat belt and moved to open Gilbert’s door, but Gilbert beat him to it, sliding out and mumbling quietly, “T-Thank you, but – I’m not used to – uh…” He fumbled for his words, exhaustion making his brain spin in helpless circles. Gerald obviously took pity on him, for he just clapped him on the back and ushered him up the stairs.

“Lisa’s still awake,” he said softly, gesturing towards one of the shuttered windows, through which a soft glow could be seen. “That’s her sitting room. She’ll show you around.” 

Gilbert gave the man a grateful smile, and Gerald returned it.

“Best of luck to you, Doctor. I’m sure we’ll be seeing a bit of each other tomorrow.” His moustache wiggled with obvious displeasure. “I’ve been roped into bartending. Please feel free to come by the bar should you need a temporary reprieve from either the children or Lisa’s endless stream of recipes.”

“Ah – thanks for that,” Gilbert said, staring at the intricately carved front door. He let out a little breath and then pressed the bell. A delicate chime echoed through the house. Gilbert stood shivering on the doorstep, his bag clutched to his chest. Behind him he heard the car pull away, and he suddenly felt quite alone.

Quite alone and very terrified.

The door was yanked open. A forceful yank that made the hinges groan. On the other side of the door, a petite woman stood perched on the balls of her feet, her light brown hair pulled up into a bun on the top of her head. She had wide, brown eyes, and Gilbert could see the collar of a hideously ugly Christmas sweater poking out from underneath the fuzzy robe she was wearing. She stared curiously at Gilbert for a moment before her eyes widened and she pressed her hands together.

“Doctor Weillschmidt!”

God. Really.

Gilbert nodded, trying to remember how to smile and act at least semi-human. It was hard when every one of his extremities felt like it was made of cotton candy.

“Yes, that’s me,” he said, forcing some cheer into his voice. “And you must be—”

Before Gilbert could finish speaking the woman tugged him into a hug. She smelled like cinnamon and some other comforting spice Gilbert couldn’t place. Like how Ludwig smelled sometimes after baking. He closed his eyes, struggling not to put his full weight on her. It was hard to resist the temptation to just… keel over. She abruptly pulled away after a moment but kept her hands on his arms.

“I’m Ludwig’s mother, Lisa,” she said genially, straightening out his lapels before tugging him inside. “I’ve heard all about you from Ludwig’s newsletter this year. It’s wonderful to finally meet you.”

“Newsletter?” Gilbert echoed, glancing around the huge entryway. The floor was a dark, somber wood, and the chandelier dangling above looked like it cost as much as a year’s rent at his shitty apartment complex. A massive staircase stretched up towards the back of the room, its banisters polished to a bright sheen. It was almost aggravatingly perfect. A movie set for Ludwig’s movie life. It fit.

Lisa hummed a quiet bar of some Christmas song under her breath as she glided over to a little end table by the bend in the staircase. She returned, holding out a piece of paper.

“Ludwig’s annual newsletter,” she said cheerfully. “He mentions you towards the end.”

Gilbert took the piece of paper, starting when he recognized the photo at the very top. It was of him and Ludwig in the park. One of his selfies that he thought Ludwig hated, even though for once the camera had managed to get them both in the shot. Smiling, no less. Ludwig was pressing his nose against his cheek and Gilbert was laughing. It was cute, immature. Very un-Ludwig as he strove to make himself appear in the public eye.

…Kind of brazen to use that photo for a formal newsletter.

Gilbert skimmed the text, stopping when he saw his name after the few dry paragraphs about work.

‘…And in more personal news, I’ve started dating the wonderful Doctor Gilbert Weillschmidt, a pediatric surgeon at a local hospital (pictured above). Although we’ve only been dating for a few months, he does an amazing job of keeping me grounded. He’ll be braving the family Christmas this year, so keep him in your prayers, everyone. Also he loathes egg nog for some insane reason, so be sure to try and slip him some. Maybe we can win him over. In other news, I recently managed to kill the last plant at work. So much for those gardening lessons Mom made me take…’

Gilbert was sure his face was bright red by the time he was done. He held out the letter towards Ludwig’s mother, mumbling, “I’m glad my reputation precedes me.”

“He talks about you every time he calls us,” Lisa said with a quiet laugh, taking the paper back. “I’m so glad to finally be able to put a face with the name. But – oh, you look ready to fall asleep on your feet.” Her expression softened. “Ludwig said you’ve been working your – pardon the vulgarity – your… ass… off. And that I should let you rest rather than insist on giving you the tour.”

Gilbert’s brain latched onto the word ‘rest’ like a starving animal, but he somehow managed to keep his desperation out of his voice. “That would be wonderful, Mrs. Schmidt. Not to seem ungrateful—” oh shit “—a-and thank you for. Welcoming me into your home. I… I should have said that first, I’m. I’m sorry.”

Lisa stared at him and then let out a quiet chuckle. “Oh dear. You do sound quite exhausted.” She gently tapped on Gilbert’s shoulder, gesturing for him to follow her up the steps.

“Ludwig’s father wanted you to sleep in one of the guest bedrooms, but I politely pointed out that Ludwig more or less implied the two of you are used to sharing a bed on occasion, so trying to keep the two of you apart would be an effort in futility. I hope you don’t mind my presumptuousness.”

“No,” Gilbert mumbled, concentrating on not tripping down the polished stairs. “We… sleep. Together.” He winced and quickly tried to save that. “Physically. No! No – I mean. Share a bed. We. There’s. I stay the night. Or—”

He gave up trying to talk, hoping Mrs. Schmidt would take pity on him. She didn’t laugh, like he’d hoped, but neither did she push him down the stairs, so. Probably a win. She led them down the hallway to one of the rooms in the western part of the house. She gave him a little smile as she pushed open the door. “Ludwig’s bedroom. You’ll have to ignore the weightlifting equipment in the corner. He was a rather obsessive teen. His bathroom is through that door there, and the laundry chute is this little door down here. Feel free to shove whatever laundry you have in the chute, I don’t mind washing it.”

“I… okay,” Gilbert said weakly, too tired to protest. Mrs. Schmidt smiled at him and patted his shoulder as she passed. 

“Get some sleep, Doctor. I imagine you’ll feel more yourself in the morning.”

Gilbert didn’t bother to correct her. She didn’t need to know that tired him was him at his most honest. Undiluted Gilbert. Instead he gave her a polite smile, wished her good night, and shut the door. Ludwig’s room was incredibly Spartan. The aforementioned weight-lifting equipment in the corner was the only thing of interest. A chic looking roll top desk, a four poster bed, a few bookshelves stuffed with mostly non-fiction. Copies of the entire Harry Potter series that looked like they’d never been cracked open. 

A fireplace.

Because why not.

Gilbert threw his stuff on the ground and navigated his sorry way into the bathroom. Everything was dark granite and very masculine. Figured.

He managed to brush his teeth and get changed into pajamas before he fell down on the bed and all but passed out. Nice sheets. Smelled clean. High thread count and—

“Shh, Vash! We’re not supposed to be in here!”

“Aunt Lisa just said that to scare us. This guy won’t care.”

“If Ludwig finds out he’s gonna kill you…”

“He hasn’t killed me yet, stop being so dramatic.”

A sharp jab to Gilbert’s spine made him crack his eyes open. He stared blearily ahead at two little blobs of color. Very bright, blond color. The bright sunlight streaming through the window made them almost blinding.

…Why the fuck were there two blonde kids in his room.

He struggled for a good five seconds, and then he remembered.

Ludwig had cousins.

Wonderful.

He started to push himself up but before he could the larger blob socked him in the arm. That made him bolt upright with a loud ‘Ow!” and the two blobs instantly scattered. Gilbert fumbled for his glasses on the side table, quickly slipping them on. 

Nothing.

“…Hello?” he cautiously ventured. A quiet snort came drifting up from underneath the bed. Of course. Because he couldn’t get away from children even on vacation. He peered over the bed and wound up face-to-face with one of the kids. A little girl, bright blonde hair and blue-green eyes. Couldn’t have been more than twelve. She gasped and shrank back, looking a bit startled before she blurted out, “Vash said we should wake you up! It’s not my fault – don’t tell Aunt Lisa!”

Gilbert turned his head slightly to glance at the other kid. This one looked stubborn. Crafty light blue eyes, hair that was falling all in his face. The sort that at the hospital would steal stuff from the other kids and wail way, way too loudly when you tried to give them a shot just to make you feel badly. About the same age as the girl, probably. Gilbert remembered Ludwig saying something about twins.

“…Lily and Vash?” Gilbert guessed, trying to put his ‘good doctor’ smile on.

The two nodded slowly, the boy piping up a moment later.

“Why were you still asleep? It’s noon.”

Shit.

Gilbert pushed himself up and glanced around until he found a clock. 12:14. Well that explained the sunlight.

“I didn’t get in until late –” he started to say, but was stunned into silence when the two kids crawled up onto the bed and sat, staring at him expectantly. He raised an eyebrow.

“What.”

“You’re Ludwig’s boyfriend, right?” the boy said, his eyes narrowing.

Gilbert just nodded, not liking where this was going.

The boy and girl exchanged glances before Vash spoke up again.

“Ludwig’s other boyfriend brought us gifts. But there weren’t any in your bag.”

Gilbert frowned, taking a moment to process that. He glanced around the children towards where he’d dumped his stuff on the floor. Sure enough half the contents were spilling out.

Little shits.

…Wait a minute.

“Ludwig brought Francis here?” Gilbert blurted out, letting his anger over his luggage go. Not nearly as important. The two children nodded slowly, the girl looking more than a little nervous.

“He – he brought him a few times,” Lily said shyly. “Francis was always really… um… h-he’d bake us things…”

“I can bake things,” Gilbert mumbled, tired and sleepy and irritable. How wonderful that he’d get to compete with Francis not only with his boyfriend but with his boyfriend’s family.

“So far all you’re doing is sleeping,” Vash pointed out. “Not a great start.”

Gilbert felt his eye twitch.

“Look, kid, I—”

Vash looked delighted at the slightly rougher tone. Lily looked as though she might burst into tears.

Gilbert let out a slow breath and tried again. He smiled. Painful, but it was there.

“Ludwig said I’d need to help with baking, right? Why don’t you guys wait a second for me to get dressed and we can go downstairs to bake cookies together.”

Vash gave him an unimpressed stare, but after a moment sighed and slid off the bed. “Fine. Come on, Lily.” 

His sister padded after him, casting nervous glances over her shoulder. The moment the two were gone and the door was closed, Gilbert darted over to his bag, rifling through it to make sure nothing was missing. His shampoo and other toiletries were scattered everywhere but that seemed to e the worst of it. Still grumbling to himself he got dressed, tugging on the sweater Ludwig bought for him. That would hopefully win him some brownie points. Ludwig had said he’d get there by ten, but since the party started at six thirty, that meant six and a half hours minimum of alone time with his closest relatives before guests arrived and distracted them. The sweater would hopefully be a good conversation starter. If not, then… at least it still sort of smelled like Ludwig.

Gilbert paused by the window to stare out at the expanse of woods that threatened to swallow the surprisingly modest backyard. They must not have wanted to mess with the natural beauty or whatever too much. And there were hills and things just beyond the little valley the house was tucked into. Maybe they could go sledding…

Slightly cheered by the prospect (he’d never gone sledding before or really done winter sports of any kind), Gilbert quickly washed his face and brushed his teeth before hurrying out into the hallway. He nearly tipped over Lily, managing to catch himself at the last minute. She stared up at him, wide eyes unblinking. And more than a bit unnerving. He tried to smile at her.

“Lily, right?” 

She nodded solemnly. Hoo boy.

“Well, you know I’m Gilbert, but I should probably introduce myself anyway.” He stuck out his hand, swallowing his burst of irritation when the girl just stared at it fearfully and then turned away. What a weird kid. Vash snorted quietly and then said in a voice way, way too arrogant to belong to a twelve year old, “You took forever. The kitchen’s this way.”

He headed down the hall, not even bothering to look back. Hopefully they weren’t this rude to Ludwig or Gilbert would have to start questioning if his boyfriend actually had any authoritative power at all. He was just getting ready to follow when there came a little tug on his arm. He looked down to find that Lily had chosen to hold on to his sleeve and was smiling shyly up at him.

“It’s… it’s nice to meet you,” she said softly, her eyes darting towards her brother. “You, um… y-you have really pretty eyes. And s-sorry about Vash. He’s not good with people he doesn’t know well. And he really liked Francis. They went swimming together and… and Francis taught him water polo…”

…What the fuck was water polo.

Gilbert returned the smile, letting the little girl lead him around. “It’s all right. I’m not great at sports other than track, so—”

“All track is is running,” came Vash’s voice. The boy had stopped at the top of the stairs and was staring back at them. “You mean you’re only good at the very basic thing required for all sports?”

…And more importantly, what the fuck was this kid’s problem.

“Well I did pole vault and high jump too,” Gilbert said patiently, following Vash as he descended down the stairs. Vash just snorted and muttered something else about those not being real sports before he fell silent again. Lily stared sadly at her brother but then gave Gilbert a winning smile.

“S-So, you and Ludwig are dating, right?” she said cheerfully.

Gilbert nodded, figuring he could use this as a warm-up for the bevy of questions that was sure to come from Ludwig’s relatives.

“Yup,” he said, grabbing the girl’s hand and swinging it just a bit. She giggled and moved a bit closer and Gilbert gave himself one suck-up point. He tended to get along better with women, regardless of age. Go figure.

“And are you engaged like Francis and he were?” she asked, frowning just a bit as she examined Gilbert’s hand. “Oh… no, you don’t have a ring…”

Was this family paid royalties every time they said the guy’s name or something.

“Nope, no ring,” Gilbert said, still keeping his tone light. “Ludwig and I haven’t been dating that long, so it would be a little early.”

“Ah.” Lily nodded wisely. “Aunt Lisa says Ludwig is in… infatuated.” She looked proud that she’d conquered the word. “And that she’s surprised you seem to be serious.”

“Does she, now,” said Gilbert as politely as he could.

“Yeah, and Uncle Wolfgang got mad that you wanted to sleep in Ludwig’s room,” Vash chimed in, heading down one of the hallways towards the source of the delicious smell wafting through the house. “He and Aunt Lisa were arguing about it.”

“…And where is Mr. Schmidt?” Gilbert asked, glancing around the hall. Each door was nine-paneled. Oak. There were fucking wall sconces and portraits of what he assumed were deceased relatives. Quaint.

“He’s out buying sugar. Aunt Lisa ran out,” Lily said, letting go of Gilbert’s sleeve so she could dart ahead through the open door at the end of the hallway. Gilbert followed after, surprised to find a rather modest kitchen (by the rest of the house’s standards). It was spacious – large island in the middle and huge windows covering an entire side that looked out into the yard, but other than the two ovens, it didn’t look much different from Ludwig’s kitchen at his town house. Lisa was standing in front of one of the counters that lined the wall. Every inch of space was covered in baking sheets, pie tins, spring form pans, and baking supplies. Two stand mixers guarded either end of the island, like stone lions in front of a mansion.

Lisa glanced over her shoulder as they arrived, patting Lily when the girl ran up and hugged her around the waist.

“Good morning, Doctor. I hope you slept well?”

“Like a log,” Gilbert said, giving the woman a smile. She returned it with a slightly tense one of her own.

“I’m glad to hear it. I’m sorry – I honestly forgot all about you. I’m a little frazzled trying to get this all done without Ludwig to help me.”

Gilbert ignored how badly that stung, and instead rolled up his sleeves, keeping the grin on his face. “Well I can help. I’m not a master baker by any stretch of the imagination but I can read numbers on measuring cups and scales like a pro.”

Lisa gave a strained laugh, shooing Vash away from the batter. “Well until Mr. Schmidt returns with the sugar, I’m afraid—” She paused, tilting her head to the side. A look of relief crossed over her face, and she quickly darted away towards another hall, calling out, “That’s him! Vash, could you get out the rest of the butter that’s in the microwave?”

“Sure, Aunt Lisa!”

Vash moved to the microwave and Lily began sorting through recipes, which left Gilbert standing awkwardly in the middle of an unfamiliar kitchen, wishing he’d been giving some sort of menial task to busy himself with.

Heavy footfalls made him glance over his shoulder just in time to see a giant of a person step through the door. It was Ludwig’s father. Had to be. They even wore their hair the same and it looked like Ludwig had inherited his father’s build. His build of being fucking huge. Wolfgang paused in the door, silently regarding Gilbert for a moment, his blue eyes narrowing behind thin-frame glasses.

“…You must be the doctor,” he said, his voice sounding like the first rumblings of a stampede.

Gilbert nodded and moved to stand in front of Wolfgang, offering him his hand.

“Gilbert Weillschmidt. It’s a pleasure.”

Wolfgang narrowed his eyes, staring at him until Gilbert realized that the man had a bag under each arm. He fought off his flush and quickly moved to take one of the bags.

“S-Sorry, sir, I didn’t see—”

“It’s fine,” Wolfgang muttered, moving past Gilbert without letting him take anything. “Surprised to see you awake. Lisa said you got in later than she’d thought.”

“I—my plane was on time,” Gilbert said slowly, not sure how to handle the man. Wolfgang merely glanced at him and then said a dismissive, “I see,” before beginning to unpack the groceries in silence. Gilbert stood by, watching as the two children chatted with their laconic uncle, managing to earn a smile from him.

After a few more minutes of awkward hovering, Gilbert was ready to throw in the towel and retreat back upstairs. It would be incredibly easy to feign a headache, pretend he had work. Something to make him feel less like he had a giant windowpane strapped to him to ensure that he would always, always be looking in. Never really inside.

A soft touch to his elbow nearly made him jump. Mrs. Schmidt smiled at him, tilting her head to the side.

“So, Doctor, you say you can read measuring cups?”

“One of the first things you learn in med school,” Gilbert said, relieved when she finally laughed and gestured for him to follow. Or even acknowledged his existence. He clung to her like a lost sheep, thanking God when she started rattling off lists of ingredients for him to measure and dump into things. The family continued to talk while they all worked, the two children asking him awkward questions every now and then that he struggled to answer politely. Wolfgang remained in the corner rolling out pie crusts, only speaking when spoken to. It was incredibly obvious neither of the older Schmidts were completely comfortable with him, but after Vash hit him on the arm to leave behind a flour-handprint and Gilbert retaliated by tickling the kid mercilessly, the two younger ones seemed to warm up to him, at any rate.

The moment everything was in the oven, Gilbert volunteered to be on dish duty. Mrs. Schmidt looked like she wanted to protest, but the doorbell rang a minute later, and she hurried away, muttering under her breath about how caterers never came when they said they would. A moment later another woman stuck her head in, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out she was Lisa’s sister. Same big brown eyes, but her hair was bright blonde. She smiled and said a cheerful, “Oh, you must be the doctor,” as she gestured for Vash and Lily. The two children ran over to her and started talking a mile a minute, relaying a story Gilbert had told them about the time he’d stitched up an injured dog he’d found on the side of the road and saved its life. The woman laughed and took a little step forward to hug him (which was made more awkward by the fact that Gilbert was up to his elbows in soapy dish water).

“I’m sorry if my brats have been terrorizing you all day. I’m Emelie, Ludwig’s aunt. My husband’s around too – you’ll hear him before you see him. Loudest in the family.”

“I’m sure we’ll get along well, then,” Gilbert said, already struggling to keep names attached to faces. Emelie just laughed and said something else that was drowned out by the sound of dogs barking. Gilbert looked out the window to see three of the animals tearing across the yard, all difference sizes and… girths. Oh right. Ludwig’s purported pets.

The kids soon joined in the yelling, and a moment later another booming voice rang out.

“Is the doctor here?! Ludwig’s doctor?!”

“In here!” the two kids yelled back. Emelie groaned and said pleadingly, “Not so loud in front of guests…” but neither of the kids seemed to hear her. They both darted over to the door to tackle a portly, yet oddly tall, balding man. He laughed and scooped the two of them up, teasing them mercilessly before he noticed Gilbert. His whole face lit up, round cheeks dimpled as he grinned.

“And there he is! The mystery doctor!”

He bounced over to Gilbert in a few steps and clapped him on the back, somehow not dropping his kids. Gilbert braced himself against the sink to keep from pitching forward, groaning at the thought of learning another relative’s name.

“Correct,” he said, the grin on his face feeling incredibly forced. “And you must be—”

“Paul, Ludwig’s uncle,” the man said, giving Gilbert a wink. “Heh, my brother-in-law over there made you sound like some kind of deviant, but lookit you! Washing dishes, rubber gloves and everything. They put you to work?”

“Oh—n-no,” Gilbert stammered, the man’s energy hard to take. “I just—”

“Lisa’s a hell of a baker, but god does she work her minions,” Paul laughed. Way, way too loudly for the small space. Gilbert just chuckled again, not sure how else to respond, but was saved further interrogation by Lisa entering the kitchen with several people clad in white uniforms. She began giving orders, telling the crew where to put things, how to heat them, and spent a great deal of time talking about the ‘formal dining room’ and the ‘formal staging area.’ Whatever those were.

Gilbert quietly got back to work, thankful that the rest of the family quickly got swept up in instructing the decorators, the caterers, and the tens of other people suddenly swarming the premises. Soon they had all left and he was able to breathe a bit easier.

“So how long have you and my son been dating.”

All except one.

Gilbert braced himself and gave Mr. Schmidt a polite smile, peeling off the rubber gloves and setting them aside. Which made him feel like a lazy ass the moment he did so since Mr. Schmidt tracked his every movement with his watery blue eyes.

“Several months now,” Gilbert said.

Mr. Schmidt arched a brow. His graying temple throbbed. Probably the sign of an impending rage-aneurysm. What else could it be.

“You don’t know exactly?”

Ah hell.

“About three months,” Gilbert said, trying not to let it show that he was considering whether to start counting from the time they’d first slept together or the time… Ludwig had. Blown him. Coming home from a business meeting.

They should have come up with a cover ‘how we met’ story before they’d parted ways. It would be too hard to coordinate something now.

Mr. Schmidt didn’t seem impressed with the answer. He pursed his lips and said flatly, “Three months and he’s already inviting you to family functions. The last one he’d been dating at least a year before he bothered bringing him.”

Gilbert laughed at that because fuck what else could he do, and said cheerfully, “Goodness, this whole family seems to be quite taken with Francis. I’m starting to wonder if I should wear a nametag.”

“…Are you usually in the business of being passive-aggressive, Doctor Weillschmidt?”

Gilbert blinked, running over what he’d said before he mentally cursed.

“No—no, sir, I’m not,” he said quickly. “Sorry, that came out wrong. Vash and Lily have been talking about Francis and Mrs. Schmidt mentioned something as well—”

“Because I wouldn’t mind if you were straight up aggressive about him,” Mr. Schmidt continued, as though Gilbert hadn’t started speaking. “I found Francis to be off putting and unctuous.” He narrowed his eyes. “He insisted on calling me ‘sir’ and speaking to me in French when I said I’d studied it in high school. I don’t enjoy being pandered to, Doctor Weillschmidt. I hope you take note.”

“…Just… just Gilbert is fine,” Gilbert said weakly. “The title is unnecessary.”

Wolfgang studied him for a moment longer and then jerked his head towards the hallway.

“My wife probably requires more help.”

“What—oh. Yes, sure,” Gilbert stammered, completely thrown off balance. “I’ll go – I’ll go help. Thanks.”

“Don’t thank someone for assigning you menial tasks, Weillschmidt,” Wolfgang muttered, returning to the table and picking up his paper to read.

“…Okay,” Gilbert said, not sure if he was supposed to leave or… what. Mr. Schmidt just continued to read his paper, ignoring him, which Gilbert assumed meant he was free to go. He slunk out of the room and went to go find Lisa. She looked ready to weep when he said he wanted to help, and quickly showed him how to hang garlands before leaving him and a few of the decorating staff to it. Decorating staff. Shit was unreal.

Luckily the two people working with him were normal enough, and Gilbert managed to strike up a conversation with them as he worked. Ludwig’s family was so intense in their myriad of different ways, it was a mental relief to have a group of commoners to talk to. He ended up shadowing them for the rest of the afternoon, hanging garlands and lights and wreaths sand sprinkling fake snow on mantles. It gave him something to do and kept him away from Ludwig’s relatives.

At least it did until five. Then the staff left, save for the servers, who were all too busy prepping things in the kitchen to talk. Mrs. Schmidt had gone upstairs to get ready, and Mr. Schmidt had disappeared into his study. The kids were down in the basement getting it set up for all the other brats that would be banished down there with them, which left Gilbert with absolutely nothing to do. He went upstairs, got changed into his suit jacket, tie, and nice jeans (Ludwig had warned him it would be a fancy party) and then picked up his phone.

One new message.

Gilbert flipped it open and read it, the words calming him almost immediately.

/Meeting done. Killed it. On my way to the airport. Can’t wait to see you, hope you’re hanging in there./

Gilbert quickly typed back a reply, his heart aching so badly for his boyfriend he thought it was going to shatter itself all over his ribcage.

/Your dad’s intense. They all think we’re moving too fast. Your cousins have found out that yes my knees do buckle when you kick them from behind and I’m not allowed to see your dogs because they’ve been relegated to outside only until tomorrow. I miss you please come be my buffer. By which I mean your family is wonderful but I have no idea how to act around one./

He sent the message just as he heard the front door open. Bursts of voices drifted up from the hall. Cadences of familiarity, loud spates of laughter. 

Gilbert froze, his fingers trembling against the screen of his phone.

And how the hell was he going to fit in there. The boyfriend of three months that no one had met before. Out of his league financially, intellectually in some cases, socially in all. 

He glanced one last time at his phone before tucking it in his pocket. The bell kept ringing, the door kept opening again and again, voices getting louder. He could pick out individual ones already. Lisa’s bright laughter. The quiet rumble of Wolfgang’s voice. Paul’s obnoxious, strident tone. The sound of children screaming in delight as they tumbled down the steps into the finished basement.

Gilbert found himself standing in front of the door, his fingers on the lock button. They were trembling even more now. With every new voice added he felt the sign around his neck tighten. The nametag digging more into his blazer. Necessities for introduction. Explaining who he was, where he came from.

Why he was alone.

Orphan had such a 1920s ring to it. Foster kid sounded so much nicer, so much less offensive.

They had to know. Ludwig had to have told them, mentioned why Gilbert wasn’t spending the holidays with his family. He’d go down there and people would try to include them as they always did. Conversation would be shallow. Oh what do you do? A doctor? That sounds so rewarding. Hobbies? Oh, that’s true, I don’t suppose a profession like that leaves a lot of leisure time. Pets? Ah, that’s too bad. What do your parents do?

Oh, I’m sorry.

The slight hesitation, the curiosity. The one soul brave enough to ask.

So what was that like?

Putting yourself through med school, that’s really something.

A scholarship! That makes sense.

What sense, Gilbert always wanted to ask, but always before he could, whatever invisible guidelines people at party were given led them to steer the conversation in a more easily-digestible direction. The hilarious mishap Julia had on the last cruse she’d taken. The time Lukas had whacked himself in the shins with his own golf club. They’d go on, speaking that weird language Gilbert didn’t possess. He didn’t mind listening, having attention focused on someone other than him was such a relief, but he hated hovering on the periphery. Guessing at what ‘the diablo’ could be, what ‘2006’ referred to and why it made cousin Krista look ready to combust with embarrassment.

Gilbert rubbed his hand against his shirt. Just in case someone got the urge to shake it. He didn’t want to gross them out with how sweaty and nervous he was. Always hard to hide.

He pushed open the door, wincing as the voices doubled in volume. A peek over the banister towards the downstairs revealed a massive group of people, all milling around like a school of fish, the hired help whisking their coats away while others wandered around the entry way with trays of hors d’oeuvre and glasses of wine.

Props. Thank God there were props.

Gilbert quickly made his way down the stairs, hoping to avoid being spotted before he had a glass of wine in his hand. The goal with parties like these, as he’d found when he’d been forced to attend the director’s holiday party, was to always pretend to be eating or drinking something. That way if your eyes glazed over or it became obvious you weren’t interested in a conversation it could be chalked up to distraction due to food or drunkenness due to alcohol.

Thankfully most people seemed content to ignore him. There were a few curious glances thrown his way, and it was obvious some wanted to ask who, exactly, he was. Gilbert managed to snag a glass of wine and moved off to the side to sip at it, content to people watch. Mostly an older crowd. Some kids who looked to be his age, probably more of Ludwig’s cousins, talking amongst themselves and looking generally like they wanted to be anywhere else than at a stuffy Christmas party.

After a few minutes Gilbert slipped into the kitchen where the food was set up. Already several people with plates were digging into the platters of chicken and pasta and fancy looking beef wrapped in pastry simmering away in the warming trays. Gilbert started to feel creepy just watching the guests, but before he could slip away someone clapped him on the back. He turned to see Ludwig’s uncle (Peter? Paul. That was it.) grinning at him.

“You’re looking a little lost, there, Doc.”

Gilbert cracked a smile, wondering if maybe Paul was a good person to latch onto. Could be worse. People were obviously skirting him a wide berth. Most likely due to volume issues.

“Kind of hard being the new boyfriend at a family gathering,” he said lightly. “…And are all Ludwig’s relatives this tall on purpose?”

Paul was kind and so laughed at his lame attempt at humor.

“Not all these stuffy shirts are relatives. Some business partners.”

“I never thought to ask – what line of business is Mr. Schmidt in?”

“Mrs. Schmidt, actually. And finance,” Paul said, snagging a canapé from a tray as it passed by. “Big scale kind. Banks in Switzerland, all that.”

“Ah. So these are all—”

“Mostly clients,” Paul confirmed, giving Gilbert a wink. “Billionaires. So don’t go stepping on any toes. Their shoes are probably made of gold. Go right through their feet.”

Gilbert snorted into his wine glass, relaxing just a bit. Paul was okay. Paul seemed like he could be his savior for the eve—

“Paul! Son of a bitch – I haven’t seen you in forever!”

Another huge man came lumbering by, smacking Paul on the arm. Ludwig’s uncle gave Gilbert one last grin before turning to the newcomer, instantly striking up a conversation that was far more personal than Gilbert felt comfortable listening to. After a bit he quietly slunk away, hoping Paul wouldn’t even notice he’d left. He ended up situating himself in a corner, another glass of wine in hand. His phone hadn’t buzzed once. A quick glance confirmed it. Every so often one of Ludwig’s relatives he’d met that day would smile at him and start to head over, obviously intent on rescuing him from his own awkwardness, before another guest would distract them and pull them away. Gilbert wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or upset. Gerald was at the bar. Gilbert had spotted the man earlier, but every time he’d tried to get close a hundred other people instantly swarmed him, and Gilbert’s sense of guilt was too much to make him feel comfortable bullying his way in and distracting the man.

After what felt like ages he checked his watch, groaning softly when he saw that the hands hadn’t budged past eight thirty. Two more hours, at least, of being fated to simply stand in this corner like a 3D portrait. And that was assuming Ludwig’s plane was on time. Gilbert rubbed a hand against his face and was about to go refill his glass of mulled wine when a loud commotion at the door made him pause. He froze the moment he recognized the voice, the anxious bands around his chest snapping one by one.

He didn’t even remember putting his wine glass down.

He didn’t remember pushing aside Ludwig’s Great Aunt Tina or practically clotheslining an elderly gentleman with a cane.

Ludwig stood in the doorway, surrounded by his relatives, clumps of wet snow stuck in his hair. He was smiling, laughing at something someone had said.

Gilbert didn’t bother stopping to admire the view. The moment Ludwig’s eyes lay on him, the moment they lit up with relief and apology and his arm moved ever so slightly, Gilbert all but crashed into him, pressing his face against the crook of Ludwig’s neck. He ignored the uncomfortable shifting of some of Ludwig’s relatives, and some of the unnecessary cat calling from other, more inebriated, guests.

Ludwig didn’t seem to notice either. He simply wrapped his arms around him and pressed a subtle kiss to his forehead.

“You’ve been here less than twenty-four hours,” he said softly. “They can’t have traumatized you that badly in such a short period of time.”

“Don’t push me to swear in front of your parents, Ludwig, I’m trying to make a good impression,” Gilbert mumbled, forcing himself to pull away just a bit. Thankfully most of the crowd had dispersed, but Ludwig’s mother and father were still close by. Ludwig was acting as though he were completely oblivious to their presence, his eyes raking down Gilbert’s form before locking with his and giving him a little grin.

“You look nice.”

“Yeah well… you told me to dress up,” Gilbert mumbled, shifting to grab Ludwig’s luggage for him. “I can take this upstairs, or—”

“You’re not getting away that easily,” Ludwig threatened, taking Gilbert’s hand instead. “Put that down. I’ll get someone else to take it up.” He moved to give his mother a one-armed hug, still not letting go of Gilbert’s hand.

“Hey, Mom.”

“Hello yourself, dear,” she said quietly, giving his cheek a kiss before glancing curiously between him and Gilbert. She raised an eyebrow. “…I take it you’re intent on proving your seriousness to everyone here? Even if you have to be incredibly blatant about it?”

“Blatant is too polite,” Wolfgang muttered, but he gave his son a hug all the same. “I thought you agreed not to showboat with this one.”

“Hugging my boyfriend isn’t showboating,” Ludwig pointed out, but he sounded more amused than anything. Wolfgang just grunted but there was a heavy scowl on his face as he turned and headed back into the party. Lisa continued to fuss quietly over her son for a moment before an aunt called her away. And finally, finally they were alone.

Gilbert shifted slightly to lean against Ludwig, his grip on his boyfriend’s hand tightening. He felt Ludwig chuckle.

“That bad, huh.”

“…It’s not. Awful,” Gilbert said quietly. “But I’ve only seen four rooms in the house. I keep going back upstairs to use your bathroom ‘cause I’m afraid to ask where the guest one is. And I hear there’s a tree, but… there’s some place called a ‘living room’ that I seem unable to find. I suspect it’s like Narnia. Just haven’t found the right wardrobe yet.”

Ludwig laughed and gave a little roll of his eyes before tugging Gilbert down the hall.

“I promise my mother is normally a much better hostess. She always gets a bit too worked up around this time of year,” he said, leading Gilbert through a doorway that branched off the kitchen. It led into a spacious room with incredibly tall ceilings. Couches and plush armchairs lined the walls, and a large fireplace took up the far end of the room. In one of the corners was a huge Christmas tree, lit with real candles and adorned with delicately spun glass ornaments. Gilbert’s eyes widened and he stared nervously at the tree.

“…I’m amazed your dad let that fly. Complete fire hazard,” he finally mumbled, unsure how else to express the fact that he felt completely dwarfed by a twenty-foot tall evergreen.

“Mom’s big on tradition and Dad’s big on letting her do whatever she wants,” Ludwig said with a shrug, heading over to a small table with a punch bowl filled with… milk. Or something. He poured Gilbert a glass, and Gilbert accepted it readily enough, sipping at whatever it was. Milk with spices. Maybe. He didn’t want to reveal his ignorance and ask. 

He followed Ludwig to an empty couch and sat down next to him, bumping his knee against his boyfriend’s.

“So meeting went well?”

Ludwig hummed in response, bumping back.

“Very.”

Gilbert twisted his cup in his hands, not wanting to ask but really needing to.

“…So no more trips for a while?”

“No more trips for a while,” Ludwig said immediately, bowing his head to rest his cheek against Gilbert’s hair for a moment. “No more trips for a long while. I promise.”

Gilbert let out a little breath, the ball of anxiety in his chest loosening even more.

“Good,” he said quietly, sipping at his drink. “Not that I begrudge you your job. Or anything. Because as your relatives have enjoyed asking me non-stop today, we have only been dating for three and a half months.”

“So you’re counting it from the moment we went legit and not our first bang session,” Ludwig noted, a little smirk on his lips. “Classy move, Weillschmidt.”

“Ludwig – God dammit you can’t say ‘bang session’ with your eighty year old grandmother sitting five feet away from us,” Gilbert hissed, even as he fought back a snort of laughter. Ludwig chuckled softly and opened his mouth to say something else when some relation came up to him and started talking to him about the war. Which war, Gilbert didn’t know, and so elected to keep his mouth shut. Ludwig switched over to politician mode and after a minute or so Gilbert more or less tuned him out. But every so often Ludwig would touch his shoulder or rest a hand on his knee or ask him his opinion on something, and the relation would look at him, listen to him, their eyes focused and attentive rather than glazed over or pitying. And Gilbert felt a burst of pride, of happiness when he gave an answer that sparked more conversation or that Ludwig immediately backed him up on when the outsider obviously had a problem with it.

By the end of the night Gilbert was holding conversations on his own, Ludwig listening silently to him as he held his hand. And Ludwig’s relatives were really looking at him, properly looking. Brushing off people who came by to distract them, offering him drinks, asking his opinions on the food, the décor, laughing when he told the story of seven hours ago when he’d nearly strangled himself with a strand of Christmas lights.

And when the guests started to leave, some of them shook his hand. Called him Doctor and then apologized and self-corrected to Gilbert. Talked about him when they thought he couldn’t hear, said ‘Ludwig’s boyfriend Gilbert’ in a casual way, as though they’d said it all their lives. A great-aunt kissed his cheek, called him charming and sweet, made him promise to take good care of Ludwig, make sure he wasn’t working too hard, and Gilbert had barely managed to stammer a yes he was so flustered and taken aback. 

One by one they trickled out, taking their voices with them. As the house grew quieter, Gilbert was surprised to find himself missing the chaos. He stuck by Ludwig’s side, helping him tidy up here and there despite Lisa telling him he didn’t need to bother, that they should go to bed they both looked exhausted. Ludwig finally gave up around one in the morning (after very nearly falling into the fireplace while sweeping it out). Gilbert slung an arm around his boyfriend’s shoulder, bid a respectful good-night to the close relatives that were staying behind for Christmas Day, and then dragged both of them upstairs. They’d managed somehow to brush their teeth and crawl into bed, Ludwig passing out the moment his head hit the pillow. But Gilbert lay awake for a bit afterwards, watching Ludwig’s chest rise and fall as he breathed. The snow reflected the moonlight outside, casting Ludwig’s whole room into an eerie, silver blue. Gilbert could still smell the pine sap stuck to his skin from the wreath. The smell of cinnamon clung to Ludwig’s hair, the tips of his fingers black with soot from the fireplace. Gilbert could recall the origin of each oddity, trace the stories, place himself in them. The same soot tarnished his fingers. The spices were from cookies he’d help make. 

How weird it felt not to just show up some place. To do more than watch other people eat and drink food and wine he had no connection with. To listen to stories that involved him. Tell ones people were actually interested in.

Gilbert shifted a bit closer to Ludwig, tightening his arm around the other man’s waist.

Without Ludwig there wasn’t anything. None of the warmth. No tree, no guests, no weird spiced milk or voices saying his name like they’d said it a billion times. Like it was part of their history.

Gilbert pressed his face against Ludwig’s chest, a sudden panic taking hold of him.

He wasn’t sure he could go back. If this was what having a family was like, a real one. How could he possibly give it up? 

He went back and forth, debating the relative merits of his neurosis-fueled thoughts before he finally passed out just as the sun was graying the sky.

The kids woke them up early again. Babbling something about presents. Unlike when it had just been him, though, Ludwig apparently wielded enough power to get them properly scared. They ran back out into the hall, yelling for their parents instead. Gilbert started to get up, but Ludwig just wrapped an arm around his waist and tugged him back down, muttering that they needed to learn patience, it was a fucking virtue for God’s sake. Gilbert had settled down again, but the peace lasted only a few minutes more.

Ludwig’s phone began to ring incessantly, and when he picked it up and Lisa’s voice assaulted their ears, Ludwig quickly got his ass in gear, Gilbert following suit. He teased his boyfriend about his mother using their phone as an intercom, and Ludwig just told him to belt it or he wasn’t getting his present.

They headed downstairs (much to the relief of the twins, who had been told they weren’t allowed to look for something called ‘the pickle’ until everyone was assembled). Gilbert sat down on the couch, cheering for Ludwig as he participated in the pickle hunt (which turned out to be a glass ornament shaped like a pickle) and petting all three of Ludwig’s dogs. Who all seemed to equally adore him and were all very, very stupid and needy. Vash won the ornament hunt, which meant he was allowed to pick the first present. The rounds of gift giving went on for a hell of a lot longer than Gilbert had expected. He made the requisite ‘oooh’ and ‘aaah’ noises when the kids got excited about whatever new technological gizmo or book or clothing item they’d been given.

But then suddenly he was the one being given gifts, and that was a bit more than he could handle. A nice tie from Ludwig’s father. A watch from Ludwig’s mother. Books from his aunts and uncles, a dumb video game T-shirt from his cousins. He’d gotten them gifts, of course, but he was a guest. They weren’t supposed to get him things.

Gilbert stared at the watch, feeling a little overwhelmed. He glanced up at Ludwig, looking for guidance, but Ludwig just smiled back and held out a small box.

“Sorry to add to the excitement,” he said quietly. “And I wasn’t sure if I should give you this in private, or—”

“Ludwig, is this a gift that’s family appropriate?” Lisa asked, her voice a bit tense. Ludwig rolled his eyes and said patiently, “Yes, Mom, it is.”

Gilbert accepted the box, not liking all the attention focused on him. Again.

“Maybe listen to those instincts next time,” he mumbled, fumbling with the bow. Ludwig had already opened his gift from him (a replacement tablet because his was on the fritz and would randomly take his picture at inopportune moments) and Gilbert had been so worried about his own gift he hadn’t thought about what Ludwig might be getting him.

He opened the box finally and set the lid aside. Something was wrapped in tissue paper at the bottom. He cautiously fished it out, but the moment he felt the shape he knew what it was. Gilbert gave Ludwig an odd look, not understanding as he fished out the key. He heard Lisa suck in a sharp breath, though, and that, even more than the hopeful look on Ludwig’s face, made him realize the gravity of the object in his palm.

Ludwig gestured towards the key, his smile weakening just a bit.

“I know this is kind of a pointless gesture at this point, but… I was kind of hoping you’d move in with me,” he said quietly. He paused. “…Also I got you that Playstation whatever thing you wanted. That’s over there in one of the boxes.” He gestured vaguely towards the tree, but Gilbert didn’t bother looking away from the key in his palm. He was stuck thinking of when he’d moved in with Eliza. How easy they thought it would be. They practically lived together already, what difference would it make.

Flash forward half a year and he was moving out. Losing half his stuff. His waffle maker. His toaster. All his frozen pizzas he’d been hoarding.

Half their friends.

Gilbert could feel the family doing their best to pretend like they weren’t highly invested in the conversation. Well, most of them were. Paul was asking Wolfgang what kind of place Ludwig had again and if it was rent controlled. Lisa lips were pressed in a firm line, and when Lily moved to ask her to help unwrap a toy from its plastic packaging, she only said quietly, “In a minute, dear.”

Gilbert ran his finger along the teeth of the key, trying to pretend it was just him and Ludwig. Just him and Ludwig and not Ludwig’s mother looking pale and anxious, Ludwig’s father staring daggers into the side of his head. Easier said than done.

He finally glanced up at Ludwig, needing something to ground himself. His boyfriend had an anxious look on his face. He didn’t wear it well. Made him look like he’d just been kicked in the balls and told to run a 10k.

This was a really, really fucking bad idea. They’d been dating for four months, Gilbert had only just met Ludwig’s family, and they all thought even that was moving way too fast. Hell, he thought they were moving too fast at times. Listening to the stories about Ludwig’s childhood he’d been subjected to over and over again just drove the point home. They barely knew one another, he was just a ragged nobody if you dug down through deep enough through the levels of education and polishing and speech therapy and studying movies he’d put himself through to try and fit in.

He wasn’t good enough. He’d known it last night, He’d known it when Wolfgang had just stared at him like he was a butchered pig instead of a human being. God what a mess, how had Ludwig thought asking him how would be a good idea—

“Y-Yeah,” he stammered. His ego threw in the towel. Didn’t fucking listen anyway, may as well say the first thing that came to mind. “Yeah – of course,” he found himself saying again, his fingers tightening around the key. “Please. I mean – I’ll miss Sadiq but I get your crazy neighbors the Jones so it all evens out, probably. Right?”

“R-Right,” Ludwig said a bit too eagerly, the smile on his face so bright it was nearly blinding. “Yeah – I mean they’re not that bad, he’s a good cook, sends over cakes and stuff whenever they feel the need to apologize for something…”

He let out a little breath and then leaned forward to press a kiss to the bridge of Gilbert’s nose, hurling a pillow at Vash when his cousin made a gagging noise. Gilbert returned the gesture before pulling away, too shy to do much more than half a second of contact in front of his relatives. He turned the key over in his fingers again, absently scratching one of the dog’s heads when it decided to settle in his lap.

“…Can we get a bird?” he asked, giving Ludwig a hopeful grin. He burst out laughing at the look of utter horror on his boyfriend’s face, and spent the rest of the day propositioning weirder and weirder pets they could add to their home. Every once in a while he caught Lisa and Wolfgang exchanging unreadable glances, but whenever they made eye contact Lisa smiled and Wolfgang ignored him, which seemed to be par for the course. Emelie and Paul for their part immediately began offering moving advice, recommending different companies and packing tips for kitchen goods and large appliances. Gilbert let it all soak in, relaxing when Mrs. Schmidt offered him tea without the strained look on her face, Wolfgang silently handing him a piece of coffee cake solidifying the deal.

The family settled down to watch a movie (something about an elf visiting New York city), and Gilbert took advantage of his and Ludwig’s removed position to curl up against his boyfriend’s side, the key still snug in his hand, Ludwig’s arm wrapping protectively around his shoulder. And when Lily settled down next to them, resting her head against his knee as she watched the movie, and when one of the dogs jumped up on the sofa to press against Ludwig’s other side, Gilbert wondered if this was what people thought of when they thought of home. A movie on the television. Too many bodies crammed onto one couch.

A cold, metal key, sinking its insecure teeth into his palm.


	11. ELEVEN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo this took way longer than I thought it would to get out. Sorry for the wait! Things are going to be picking up in the fic from here on out, so I hope you enjoy!

“You promise you’re not gonna let go?”

“Yes, Gilbert, for the thousandth time. I will not let go. …Again.” Ludwig raised an eyebrow. It disappeared underneath the brim of his stupid hipster knit cap. “Do I need to take a blood oath before you’ll believe me?”

Gilbert yelped as he slid down the slope a bit more, his thighs starting to shake from exhaustion. He glared at Ludwig, arms slowly circling in the air to maintain his balance. He knew he looked ridiculous. Better than dying.

“I shed blood on this mountain. You should have to do the same,” he muttered. “And don’t forget that my amazing eyes catch light and reflect it into my brain at only half the speed of a normal man’s. This air-tight scientific explanation totally accounts for any accidents I might have already had on this whirlwind misadventure into the various decibel-levels I’m apparently capable of producing.”

“I told you there was a snow tunnel that would be hard to see and that you needed to slow down. It’s not my fault you chose to slow down by slamming your face into the side of the mountain. Although your nose did serve as a decent brake,” Ludwig deadpanned, shifting his ski poles so they were dangling from his wrists. He took Gilbert’s hands in his own, carefully skiing backwards.

Gilbert made a warbling noise of panic as he started to slide, his legs shaking a bit from trying to maintain the wedge-shape with his skis. Ludwig had insisted would keep him from dying.

“Yeah well – f-fuck my legs are shaking so bad,” he whimpered, giving Ludwig a pitying look from behind his goggles. “Lutz I can’t pizza anymore I can’t please don’t make me do it. No more pizza.”

“Just one more trip down the slope and then we can go back home and get hot chocolate,” Ludwig said soothingly, maintaining eye contact. Probably like firefighters were trained to do when they rescued people from burning buildings. Or panicking cats from trees. “Just one last trip down the slope with minimal injury and you can sit by the fire and eat whatever the housekeeper decided to cook.”

“I want real pizza,” Gilbert mumbled, slowly following Ludwig as they started to make a snaking pattern in the powdery snow. “I’ve been pizza-ing all day with my legs. I want to eat the real thing. Devour its young. Make it suffer the loss of its family line.”

“Getting a therapist up here to psychoanalyze your thought process would probably take a bit too long, so why don’t we save the inane ramblings for when we’re in a populated area.”

“I’m not being inane, I’m being charming. On the off-chance that you’ll take pity on me and let me cling to you koala-style to get off of this god-forsaken mountain.”

Gilbert’s ski hit an icy patch, and with a little yelp he slid forward a bit too fast. Ludwig quickly braced himself to catch him and gave his boyfriend an exasperated look.

“We wouldn’t be on this god-forsaken mountain if you hadn’t lied about being able to ski.”

“Your dad was staring at me!” Gilbert protested, slowly shifting his weight to follow Ludwig into a turn. “All judge-y. Like ‘oh what’s that plebian doing, doesn’t know how to ski.’ And then of course Vash was all like ‘Francis can ski he skis in Switzerland his skis are made of gold and he shits diamonds all the way down the slope.’”

“Gold is probably the worst possible metal you could chose to fashion skis out of –”

“Not the point—”

“And how would you find the diamonds in the snow? Francis sounds like a slope hazard, honestly.”

Gilbert pursed his lips, falling silent as he concentrated. Ludwig was making them pick up speed, and while his exhausted legs were grateful for the change, the sudden acceleration wasn’t doing good things for his heart.

“…I liked that,” he mumbled, once his adrenaline had lowered to normal amusement park levels.

Ludwig glanced up at him, blinking through the orange plastic of his goggles.

“Liked what? Going faster?”

Gilbert shook his head, cursing when it nearly made him unbalance.

“You calling him a hazard.”

“Slope hazard.”

“Anything negative, really, I’m a bitter man, Ludwig. Just let me have this. I’m cold and terrified and there’s probably pee-icicles lining the inside of my pants from said cold and terror.”

Ludwig rolled his eyes but refrained from comment until they’d entered the wooded part of the course again. 

“To keep us both alive I need to turn around now,” he cautioned, fixing his poles again and letting go of Gilbert’s hands. Or trying to.

Gilbert let out a terrified squawk and lunged for Ludwig, whining when his boyfriend moved out of reach. He came to a stop, the pizza-shape of his skis doing its job.

“Lutz – dammit, can’t you just grow eyes in the back of your skull?” he demanded. “The Thing could do it. Don’t let some unidentified alien life form one-up you. At least give me your poles!”

“First, no poles for beginners,” Ludwig said firmly, gliding a few feet away before stopping to wait for Gilbert to slowly edge his way down the mountain. “Secondly I’ve never seen The Thing because my friend told me a dog dies in it and I am firmly against that.”

“All the dogs die,” Gilbert muttered, his eyes fixed on the glittering snow as he inched forward. “It’s an awesome movie. Except for that part.”

Ludwig looked momentarily sickened before he let out a heavy sigh. “It’s going to take until nightfall to get to the bottom with you going that speed. And we still have to drive back. Vash and Lilly are probably already waiting for us at the lodge at the bottom. I don’t want to leave them unsupervised for long.” Ludwig raised an eyebrow again. “…If I gently tease you about losing to two twelve year olds will that goad you into trying to ski like a normal human being?”

“They have smaller mass so they don’t have to expend as much energy turning and shit,” Gilbert snapped, his heart rate picking up as he began to slide again. “And you said pizza was the way to not die so god dammit I am going to pizza until the world is properly flat again and my terror has subsided.”

“You won’t crash into anything again.”

“You’re overestimating the strength of my legs. They’re in full-on noodle mode now.”

“I think I’m pretty well acquainted with the limits of your leg strength.”

Gilbert gave Ludwig a sour look.

“…Me supporting my weight for twenty seconds while you pin me against a wall is not the same as spending a day skiing. And just to remind you I ended up falling anyway and hitting my head against the shower door so haha joke’s on you Gilbert Weillschmidt’s got the fortitude of a newborn foal.”

Ludwig chuckled quietly and for a few minutes seemed content to let Gilbert slowly plow his way down the mountain side. They were finally within sight of the lodge again, and Gilbert had to concentrate not to be startled by the people whizzing by. People mostly being tiny children. Apparently they were on the ‘bunny slope.’ Ludwig had assured him that it was named after the killer rabbit in the classic British comedy. Very manly, very deadly. The fact that everyone on the lift could have ordered off of the Happy Meal menu without garnering strange looks from the cashier was just a coincidence.

Another kid flew by, nearly knocking Gilbert out of pizza mode. He cursed under his breath, his legs wobbling like crazy. This wasn’t how he’d pictured the day going. Mr. Schmidt had casually mentioned the ski resort only a twenty minute drive away. Had asked Gilbert if he went skiing. Desperate to save face after two days of enduring Mr. Schmidt’s non-committal grunts whenever he tried to strike up a conversation with the man, Gilbert had blurted out yes. Even though it was a lie, his stupid brain had gotten all worked up when Mr. Schmidt hadn’t immediately believed him that he was a champion skier. 

An hour later and he was suddenly on the top of a mountain, Ludwig’s cousins threatening to push him down the slope when he’d been too terrified to start forward himself. His posturing had worked until he’d run straight into the side of a snow tunnel. Watching the ski patrol scoop up bloodied snow was in all honestly the only highlight of the day. Vash and Lily had promptly abandoned him once he’d been informed he hadn’t broken anything and was therefore, in Vash’s snide terms, ‘crying for nothing.’ Fucking brat.

Hopefully the kids would keep their mouth shut around their uncle. As if things weren’t awkward enough with Ludwig’s family already.

“The sun’s going down soon.”

Ludwig’s voice made Gilbert look up. His boyfriend had a somber expression on his face.

Gilbert scowled.

“Could you maybe not say that like you’re a scientist in a werewolf horror movie?”

“Sorry. The sun’s going down soon! Said with joy.”

“There was no joy there,” Gilbert muttered, his skis stuttering as he tried to move into a turn. “Only darkness.”

“Which is what we’ll soon be surrounded by if you don’t let go of your fear a bit.”

“You’re the one that implanted me with said fear! You don’t get to complain!”

Ludwig winced and pressed a hand against his ear.

“You’re shrill when you’re scared. Avalanche-inducing levels. Look – there’s nothing to run into down there except more advanced skiers who will be able to get out of your way. You won’t coast far enough to hit the lodge; we’re almost out of the trees. Try moving your skis parallel. Just for a bit.”

Gilbert stared down at the snow, and then with a sudden burst of impatience, broke the pizza.

If he hadn’t been so busy clenching his ass out of sheer terror the look of disappointed dismay on Ludwig’s face as he zoomed by would’ve made him laugh.

The trees morphed into a dark green blur on either side of him, the rushing noise of powder against fiberglass drowning out Ludwig’s yells from behind him. The lodge was approaching quickly. Really, really quickly and there were so many tiny children milling around they were all going to die.

Gilbert tried to move his legs into pizza formation again, but exhaustion and speed made it impossible. He offered up a quick prayer, his heart still in his throat. A few of the children had spotted him, and even through the sheer dread gripping his lungs, Gilbert had the presence of mind to be annoyed about the casual way they took a few steps to the side to let him zoom past. The mountain was slowly eaten up by the boring flatland, and he coasted to a stop a good twenty yards in front of the lodge entrance. Gilbert was dimly aware his eyes were smarting behind his goggles, but he was so out of it he kept trying to wipe them through the plastic lenses. Snow flew up around his legs as someone stopped quickly behind him, and a moment later Ludwig was socking him in the arm.

“Gilbert Weillschmidt!”

“Ow.”

“You bastard – you idiot that wasn’t what I meant and you know it!”

“Ludwig, I didn’t kill any children. My child-murder incidents remain confined to operating rooms so I’d say this is a big success for everyone. Let’s not drag my full name into it just yet,” Gilbert said wearily, hunching down to try and get the world to stop spinning. He was going to puke. All over the nice snow. Two bodily fluid ejections in one day. One was tolerable; two was starting to make him feel like an invalid.

Ski poles were suddenly jammed into the snow next to him, and a moment later he found himself tumbling to the side as someone undid the bindings on his skis. He picked himself up out of the snow, looking up just in time to get snapped at by Ludwig.

“Watch my equipment. I’m going to go return yours.”

“...Okay,” Gilbert said wearily, too exhausted to even point out what a dick Ludwig was being. He brushed snow out from under his collar and then leaned back against the poles, closing his eyes. His whole body was still shaking from residual adrenaline. And maybe just a bit from Ludwig yelling. He was definitely a general in a previous life. Probably got murdered by his own men for being too militant but still. General material.

There came the gentle crunching of snow, and a moment later a gloved-hand rested on his head.

“I think I might puke.”

Gilbert cracked open an eye, relief blanketing the last needles of residual terror. Ludwig did sound close to puking. It was comforting.

“Stealing my lines, Schmidt. You’re awful.”

Ludwig thudded down in the snow next to him, his face still pale.

“I hate when you scare me,” he mumbled, his gruff voice muffled by the snow. “Like when you pretended to jump off that balcony.”

“You got scared over a two second gag?”

“You’re not as waifish as you complain to be. Your weight was ready to break that banister and you know it.”

“Were you actually scared or is this just some weird, passive-aggressive way of making me go on a diet?”

“No you’re perfect. All balconies just need to be made systematically stronger to compensate should you chose to gain weight.”

Gilbert laughed and lightly kicked Ludwig in the shins.

“Hey, genius. You forgot to return my boots.”

“Hey, person with a medical degree. How would you have walked inside if I’d taken your boots?”

“Fear makes you so sassy. You’d think I’d remember this.”

Ludwig just shook his head as he pushed himself to his feet, grabbing his poles. Gilbert let out a soft whining noise until Ludwig offered him one as well. He hopped up, but immediately let out a ‘whoa’ as he wobbled dangerously.

“Yeah. Definitely overdid it,” he muttered, hobbling towards the equipment rental window. “Let’s make tomorrow’s activity ‘sitting.’ I think that’s more in-line with my skill set.”

“Dad’ll be overjoyed to hear that. Sitting’s his favorite too.”

“Oh no. You won’t be telling your dad about any of this.”

Gilbert hopped inside the rental place, sat down on a bench, and then kicked out his feet, grinning at Ludwig. 

“Unlace me.”

“Unbuckle,” Ludwig corrected in a deadpan tone. He obediently knelt down in front of Gilbert though and began undoing the bindings on his ski boots. Three plastic snaps later, however, and he looked up, meeting Gilbert’s eyes.

“…I’m still irritated. That was incredibly dangerous.”

“What – I didn’t hurt anyone,” Gilbert protested. “It was a seven second terror-rush and then nothing.”

“I don’t care about anyone. You could’ve gotten seriously injured. I told you to wait until we were out of the tree line. You were acting completely irresponsibly—”

“—last time I take you skiing! Matthew you are completely irresponsible!”

Ludwig immediately shut up as the conversation of the father-son pair across the hall drifted over to them. He ducked his head and got back to work, his cheeks a bright red.

Gilbert bit back a laugh and reached out to gently pat Ludwig’s shoulder.

“Sorry, Dad. I’ll be more careful next time.”

“That’s not funny,” Ludwig mumbled, still not looking up. “My mother already enjoys teasing me about how I’m trying to fill the ‘strong male role model’ void in your foster-child life. After I mentioned once that I was helping you with your taxes.” His large fingers slipped on the last binding and he cursed softly before tugging off his gloves to wrestle with the plastic.

Gilbert rolled his eyes, still fighting off a grin. “Come on, your mother doesn’t think your relationship to me is in any way parental. She just thinks I’m an idiot.”

“She doesn’t think you’re an idiot. She thinks you had a shitty childhood and are therefore emotionally stunted and in need of a father-figure. And that you maybe project that onto your boyfriends. So not an idiot. Just daddy issue-stricken. Which is. So worse,” Ludwig muttered, tugging off Gilbert’s boots. He suddenly paused and then made a face before shoving the boot back on. “And now what should have been a romantic moment has been forever tainted with incestual implications. Wonderful. You can take off your own boots.” He stood and gestured towards the counter before walking off, calling over his shoulder, “I’m going to put my stuff away and track down Vash and Lily. We’ll meet you in the lodge proper in front of the fireplace.”

“What—it was romantic!” Gilbert protested, but dragged his sorry self over to the service counter when it became apparent that Ludwig wasn’t going to take pity on him and return. He stood there shivering in his socks, the cold and wet of the concrete floor quickly soaking through the three layers of wool. When he got his normal shoes back he quickly tugged them on and then wandered off in search of his boyfriend and boyfriend’s cousins. Lily had warmed up to him considerably, but Vash. Still not a fan of his cousin’s New Boyfriend. Preferred Old Boyfriend and was determined to rub it in as much as possible.

“—couldn’t even take off his own ski boots?! Why are you datin’ him, Ludwig?”

Case in point.

Gilbert rounded the corner into the lodge proper and spotted the three gathered by one of the round fireplaces dotted around the middle of the huge open space. He gave them a little wave, which Lily returned. Only Lily. Girls were so nice sometimes. Boys could be huge brats.

“I don’t need a reason to date him. But no, I don’t think he could. He’s not exactly graceful even when he’s wearing normal shoes.”

Gilbert’s eye twitched.

Grown up boys too, apparently. Just larger-framed brats.

“Nice to hear you defending me,” he said dryly, plunking down next to Lily. She smiled at him and lightly patted his shoulder.

“Ludwig said you’d never been skiing before?” she questioned softly. “But you told Uncle Wolfy that you have…”

“It’s called ‘lying to potential future in-laws.’ A skill I’d recommend you learn early,” Gilbert said, lightly poking Lily’s nose. She laughed and shied away, even as Ludwig muttered, “Don’t tell my cousins to start lying. They need to figure that out for themselves later.”

“Or you could just learn to do a bunch of cool stuff so you wouldn’t need to ever lie,” Vash said in his normal bored tone. Gilbert was starting to get really fucking tired of it.

“Yeah, well, not all of us can afford skiing and yachting and polo classes growing up,” Gilbert said lightly, trying to remind himself that he was an adult and that getting in a pissing contest with a twelve-year-old wouldn’t win him any brownie points. Vash just snorted and then said in a challenging voice, “You could afford to go to med school. I bet you could’ve afforded to take some classes on somethin’.”

“Not that it’s any of your business, champ, but I went to school on a scholarship for poor kids. So there,” Gilbert said, standing up. Temper was starting to fray. He gave Ludwig a pointed look, hoping that his boyfriend would notice so that they could get going, but Ludwig was answering an email on his phone. Looked serious. His face was stony.

Vash said something else snobbish and annoying, but Gilbert ignored him in favor of kneeling down in front of his boyfriend and asking, “What’s up?”

Ludwig looked up from his phone. Gilbert could practically see the crow’s feet etching themselves into his skin. 

“Apparently there’s a conference call I was supposed to participate in two hours ago on Skype,” he said dully. “But of course no one remembered to email me about this. They assumed I came into the office and saw the memo. Guess how happy my boss was when I told him I’d been skiing with my boyfriend all day.”

“Ecstatic, judging by the look of unbridled joy on your face,” Gilbert said softly, leaning forward to butt his head gently against Ludwig’s. He ignored Vash’s gagging noises and the sounds of Lily slapping him afterwards.

“Thrilled, yes,” Ludwig said with a heavy sigh, bumping his nose into Gilbert’s cheek before pulling away. “I’ll be on the computer as soon as we get home. Probably for the rest of the evening.”

“That’s fine. I can, uh… play with your dogs again,” Gilbert said, trying to inject some enthusiasm in his voice. Ludwig apparently wasn’t buying it. The smile he gave him was rather grim. 

“Just how I always wanted to spend the one holiday a year I get. Estranged from my boyfriend in the same house,” he muttered, jabbing his fingers a bit too aggressively against the phone’s screen. “And – fucking – dammit these keys are way too fucking small.”

“As endearing as I find your limited vocabulary to be when you’re under stress, you might want to tone it down a notch in front of your impressionable cousins,” Gilbert said as gently as he could. 

Ludwig just snorted and shook his head, finishing his response before he put his phone away and stood up.

“They’ve heard worse. Uncle Paul’s got a mouth like a sailor the moment gin touches his lips,” he muttered. “Vash, Lil, we’re heading home. Make sure you have everything.”

The twins dutifully chorused ‘okay’ as they hopped off the bench, their huge ski bags almost decapitating Gilbert. He followed after the little family, keeping his distance. Mostly to avoid being beaned in the head again by a rogue ski bag, but also because he recognized Ludwig’s mood. It was the second one of his he’d really gotten down pat. Cactus in sustained drought. When Ludwig was so desperate on just surviving his demanding job he isolated himself and brutally stabbed anything that came near him. Figuratively. Ludwig swore up and down the pencil he’d hucked at Gilbert’s shins that one time had just been an accident.

The ride back to the house was uncomfortable at first. ‘Edgy’ off-Broadway play levels of discomfort. The twins fell asleep in the back seat, but Gilbert was too concerned with making sure Ludwig didn’t speed trying to get them home faster to relax enough. The roads were icy in places and the wind had picked up, blowing the powdery snow into low-hanging clouds that hugged the earth. The sun was starting to set, and every so often the snow would clear just enough that the eerie orange ball could be seen suspended between encroaching winter clouds, purple and dark where the pink sun couldn’t reach them. The whole landscape had a quiet, dead feeling to it. The wind prying at the edges of car doors didn’t help. The silence inside was nearly smothering.

Gilbert stared out the window, the otherworldliness of the mountains tugging at something in his chest. On impulse he looked to Ludwig, wanting to try and explain what it was that was making him feel so oddly afraid of the scene just on the other side of the glass and metal. He’d never lived outside of the city before. Never really been anywhere that was this alone. Where you could drive for twenty minutes and suddenly find yourself completely lost. It was disturbing to Gilbert on some primal level, and like many primal things he suddenly wanted comfort. But his boyfriend’s expression was guarded by a heavy scowl, so Gilbert swallowed the poignant feeling before it morphed into words, and continued to sit in silence, risking glances outside every few minutes until the thoughts abated.

The driveway up to the house had been cleared of the new snow. Ludwig parked the car in the garage, and after offering Gilbert a tense smile, headed inside. The smile did little to ease Gilbert’s mind, and seeing Mr. Schmidt’s car parked next to theirs didn’t help. Meant he would be inside and ready to hear about how the day had gone. The twins began to stir, so Gilbert didn’t feel too badly about waking them up. Vash still swiped at him though, which was enough to push Gilbert past the ‘socializing time is over’ breaking point. He headed inside, firmly intent on taking a long bath in one of the many (many) guest bathrooms. Before he could set his foot on the first step, a rough voice stopped him.

“Ludwig informed me he will not be joining us for dinner. I assumed this to mean skiing did not go well, but here you are in one piece and apparently uninjured.”

Gilbert let out a slow breath to gird his loins and then turned to smile pleasantly at Mr. Schmidt.

“Your niece and nephew are fine too, by the way,” he said lightly.

“I have little doubt. They’re strong skiers,” Wolfgang said in his usual gruff voice. He looked decidedly unimpressed with Gilbert’s flippant tone.

“It went well,” Gilbert said, his skin crawling as it always did when Mr. or Mrs. Schmidt fixed too much attention on him. “No accidents or injuries to report.”

“Even though it was your first day on the slopes.”

“Yes, even though—” Gilbert cursed and then quickly emended, “The first day on these slopes. These ones in particular.”

Mr. Schmidt just raised an eyebrow before he said blandly, “I know you’ve never skied before. Ludwig told me before you left.”

Gilbert felt like he’d been punched in the gut. So much for boyfriend solidarity in the face of overwhelming parentness. 

“Ah – well I suppose the cat’s out of the bag,” he said with a little laugh. “Small cat and small bag, so it’s not a big de—”

“I informed him, as I will now inform you, that I do not enjoy being lied to. Even over trivial things,” Mr. Schmidt interrupted, his thin lips pressed together. “In the future I would recommend you resist the urge to better yourself through deceit, Doctor Weillschmidt. It impresses no one.”

Gilbert’s stomach rolled horribly. It took everything he had to nod and smile.

“I apologize. I didn’t think a white lie would matter—”

“Risking tarnishing your reputation over something so inconsequential does little to endear you to either Mrs. Schmidt or myself,” Wolfgang said dryly. “As a last word of advice.”

Gilbert felt his smile twitch, and before he could stop himself he said lightly, “I’ll be sure to choose a bigger lie next time, Mr. Schmidt. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go soak in hot water to return the feeling to my toes.”

He turned to leave, but Mr. Schmidt’s deep voice followed him.

“Mrs. Schmidt would like to see you when you’re done. The guest bath at the far end of the left wing should still be serviceable.”

“…Thank you,” Gilbert said stiffly. Wonderful. What period drama had he stumbled into.

Mr. Schmidt had mysteriously disappeared by the time Gilbert risked glancing over his shoulder at the top of the landing. Slouching off towards the living room, no doubt. Slouching in the dire, Biblical sense. 

Gilbert made a beeline for the bathroom, pausing by Ludwig’s room for a moment to listen to his boyfriend’s voice. He was speaking quietly in some language Gilbert didn’t understand. The terseness of the cadence was enough of a clue to let Gilbert know that he needed to give Ludwig some Space. Probably for the rest of the day like Ludwig had guessed. Which meant he could either try and hole up in one of the many unoccupied-rooms available on the second floor or.

Or.

Family socialization. Again. By himself.

Gilbert let out a heavy sigh as he locked the door to one of the guest baths and started disrobing. The bathtubs in the Schmidt house were obviously designed for people much larger than him. Mini-giant sized. It was easy to sink deep into the water. Pretend you were drowning. Not the funnest of games, but honestly it beat having to make awkward small talk with Ludwig’s parents for the billionth time. When Ludwig or the kids were there it was easy enough to deflect the conversation to something more universal. Without them he was left wondering if maybe bringing up new research on curved suturing techniques actually wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. Maybe Mr. and Mrs. Schmidt would grow so tired of him they’d swallow their own tongues before he’d have to take that macabre plunge himself. Seemed likely.

Gilbert held out his pruney hand, jabbing at the puckered skin. Better sutures than the awkward questions they asked about his and Ludwig’s relationship. How’d they’d gotten together. Why they were moving in so quickly. What they had in common. It made Gilbert start to question and to think about those things himself. Which was never, ever good unless he had Ludwig there to reassure him that their relationship was stable despite its relative infancy. Under Mr. Schmidt’s stare he tended to forget objective facts like that.

The water in the bath was starting to grow disgustingly cold by the time Gilbert forced himself out. He tugged on the spare pajamas every guest bedroom was equipped with (because apparently the Schmidts thought it a crime that their guests not be provided with satin sleeping clothes). Gilbert rebelliously discarded the button-up top, however, tugging on his T-shirt instead. Casual rebellion. The only type he actively participated in.

With no small amount of reluctance, he made his way back downstairs. Ludwig’s room was quiet when he passed. He only caught the tail-end of a defeated ‘yes.’ Not great. It was enough to make his mood sour even before he remembered that Mrs. Schmidt had wanted to see him. After checking the kitchen and Mrs. Schmidt’s study, he finally made his way into the living room. Ludwig’s mother was curled up on the couch, Lily asleep with one of the dogs at the far end of the large, L-shaped sofa. Mrs. Schmidt spotted him, and with a little smile she waved him over.

“Still in one piece, I see,” she teased, sounding far too entertained for what the situation warranted. Gilbert smiled out of politeness. The Schmidts probably wrote their comedy material as a couple. They seemed to constantly forget who had already used what tired cliché.

“Ten toes and everything,” he said lightly, sitting down a respectful distance away from Ludwig’s mother. She gave him a small laugh in return and then muted the television. A Disney movie was on. The one about the snow woman everyone was obsessed with.

“Wolfgang was alarmed when Ludwig told him you’d never been skiing before. That portion of the range is hardly beginner’s territory. Did you enjoy yourself?”

“Constant exposure to near-crippling terror is the fastest way to build character, I’ve found,” Gilbert said with a reserved smile. “It went about as well as I expected. I learned how to pizza. Which, I believe, is why I’m on this couch and not in a hospital with a breathing tube shoved up my nose.”

“Oh goodness – pizzaing.” Mrs. Schmidt let out an ungainly snort and quickly covered her mouth, laughing again. Gilbert scooted away from her a little, not sure where all the giggling was coming from. She managed to calm down and then turned to face him, her cheeks flushed. “Ludwig used to swear by it when he was young. He’d yell at me and his father whenever we’d ski properly, insisting we were going to injure ourselves.” Mrs. Schmidt laughed again, pressing her hand against her forehead. It was a gesture Gilbert recognized from when Ludwig was horribly embarrassed in a pleased, flustered way. It made him relax slightly, glad to see a bit of his boyfriend in his parents. Although Ludwig looked almost exactly like a younger version of his father, the resemblances in terms of temperament were few and far between. He wasn’t nearly as kind and openly supportive as his mother, not nearly as stern and foreboding as his father. Some bastard mix of the two. But that was how children worked, right? They weren’t clones of their parents. Thankfully.

“So, was… was Ludwig a nervous child, then?” Gilbert asked hesitantly. Mrs. Schmidt hummed in thought (covering several octaves in the process) and then nodded. More times than was necessary.

“I suppose so,” she said, lacing her fingers together. “He was very concerned with two things: his grades and making sure everyone in his classes got along. He was always very concerned about resolving disputes and things in school, even at a young age. He joined student council as soon as he could, but… hm.” Lisa’s smile turned a bit distant. “I always wondered what exactly motivated him. He was casual acquaintances with everyone in his classes growing up. He’d go to their basketball games and they would cheer him on at his soccer matches, but I can count on one hand the number of times he brought a friend home for a play date. For a long time I was worried that he simply enjoyed order, and that in his shrewdness he had figured out that the best way to maintain that order was via diplomacy. The way he talked about his classmates reminded me of… oh, of how a master chess player would discuss stratagems. Why a piece ought to be moved somewhere. But whenever I would ask him if he was lonely, he would simply smile and say that no, he wasn’t. That he had me and Papa and his cousins and the dogs. I believed so strongly that my child was broken, but now watching him as an adult, I think that Ludwig… he gives so much of himself to things he truly cares about. So much that if he were not very selective about what he chooses to value, he would have none of himself left to give.”

She gave Gilbert a soft, motherly smile. It set Gilbert’s teeth on edge, but he listened politely as she continued.

“I know Mr. Schmidt and I have been giving you a bit of a hard time, Gilbert. But you have to understand our worry that Ludwig is offering too much, too quickly. He’s—… our son has never behaved this way before.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her eyes focused on a distant point over the edge of the television. “It’s been startling to say the least. Rather like… meeting old friends at a high school reunion. You see glimpses of the children they were, but sometimes those facets of them have become so twisted from time and experience you have to work very hard to find their old faces. I simply never imagined I would have to search to find my son.”

Gilbert swallowed heavily, unable to so much as look at Mrs. Schmidt’s face. There was no accusation in her tone, but still he couldn’t help but feel guilty. Like he’d ruined Ludwig, somehow.

“I didn’t – I’m sorry if it’s anything I’ve done—” he began hesitantly, but Lisa held up a hand before he could get much further.

“Ludwig is still every bit as kind and self-reliant as we raised him to be. I don’t mean this in a rude way, but I believe you overestimate the impact you’ve had on molding his personality. People do not change in a matter of months. You may have inadvertently triggered the growth of some seed that had lain dormant in him, but a trigger is not the thing itself.”

“I—okay,” Gilbert said weakly, a bit at a loss. He scrubbed a hand over his face, wondering if all conversations with parents were this intense. The couch shook just a bit, and he lifted his head to stare warily at Ludwig’s mother. She was laughing, and after a moment said in a breathy voice, “F-Forgive me. I have to confess – Mr. Schmidt and I got into a bit of the wine and even though this is and I quote, ‘a terrible vintage that shares more ancestry with Juicy Juice than an actual grape,’ it’s dangerously drinkable. I promise I’m not usually this loquacious.”

“Wh—you’re… drunk? And watching Disney?” Gilbert asked before he could stop himself. Lisa just laughed again and nodded, pressing a finger to her lips.

“Tipsy, dear. Tipsy. I had a stressful week. But don’t tell Ludwig – he’s never, ever seen me inebriated.” She paused. “That he knows about. And I wouldn’t want to tarnish my perfect maternal image.”

Gilbert tilted his head to the side, suddenly a bit nervous. The only parents he’d encountered who drank were in fiction. And they were always, always alcoholics. Abusive and terrible. He wasn’t an idiot. He knew fiction was different than reality and that moderation existed, but still—

“I didn’t think moms got drunk,” he finally said. “Or… or if they did, they wouldn’t admit it… least of all to their kid’s boyfriend.”

Lisa blinked her wide, dark eyes, and then snorted with laughter.

“Oh sweetie – no, moms get drunk all the time. I promise you. Sometimes for bad reasons, but mostly because mothers are people as well with lives outside of their children. And sometimes life requires alcohol. Or if you’re a teetotaler, some other vice. Cake, maybe. Expensive cars.” She gestured vaguely. Gilbert had to dodge one of her arms. She suddenly paused, casting Gilbert a somber look.

“But you—ah… I keep forgetting,” she said softly, “You don’t have all that much experience with mothers. It’s wrong of me to laugh.”

“No it’s not,” Gilbert said quickly. “Please, laugh away. I say stu – foolish stuff all the time. It’s not like I didn’t live in foster homes for a while. I know how families work, and… well, obviously moms too. They’re… they’re family. Parts.”

“Family parts, yes,” Lisa said, humming thoughtfully. “But foster homes… would you mind telling me a bit about that? Ludwig really hasn’t been all that forthcoming with information.”

“I don’t mind, but… there’s not a whole lot to tell,” Gilbert said, watching the animated girls on the television yell at one another in silent anguish. “It’s not really as dramatic as it is in fiction, most of the time. I only ever had one foster family that I wanted to leave as opposed to had to. Most of them were great; just… had too many kids to take care of. Meant that attention was hard to get and I’m sure you’re thinking now that that little tidbit explains a lot about my personality.”

He fiddled with a torn cuticle, not relishing the push down memory lane but feeling oddly obliged to stumble along. Maybe because Lisa had been so open with him about Ludwig’s childhood quirks. He really didn’t have a parent to blab for him. Had to do it himself.

“I guess… maybe that’s why I’m so taken with Ludwig,” he said finally. “Because like you said, he’s really devoted and… I never really got all that attention focused on me when I was a kid. Ever. There were always a billion other kids, lots of them with behavioral or medical problems way worse than mine. I was kind of sickly but never really that badly off after leaving the hospital for the last time.”

“The hospital?” Mrs. Schmidt asked, her eyes widening.

“Ah—shit – I mean shoot,” Gilbert winced, rubbing the back of his neck. He glanced warily at Lisa, her large, dark eyes making him want to tell, but…

“I haven’t… really talked to Ludwig about that part of my life yet,” he said hesitantly. “He knows about the foster stuff more or less, so that’s okay but… I’d feel kind of weird telling you before him. I hope that’s okay. It’s nothing dramatic or anything, but I mean – obviously I’ve got albinism. And there were some other problems on top of that when I was a kid. I don’t really remember all that well and probably the only really inconvenient thing about not having parents at this point in my life is that I don’t have someone who can give me my history from birth to now. I have to piece it together from records and the photos I managed to save. Which is why I have this charming habit of obsessively saving documents and memorabilia. That latent… foster kid paranoia. I guess. Don’t have anyone else to remember things for me, so…”

Lisa’s gaze softened. Her hand reached out, timid, to push a bit of hair off of Gilbert’s forehead.

“…I hope it’s not too presumptuous to say this now, but Ludwig has always had an eerily accurate memory,” she said softly. “And I believe… just based on the bit he’s told me that he wouldn’t mind at all if you leaned on him a bit more for that sort of thing. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

Gilbert froze, staring at Ludwig’s mother in total fear. Her hand was still touching his forehead. Was this how long maternal touches were supposed to last? What was he supposed to do? Thank her for fixing his hair and being all weird and sentimental after knowing him for a grand total of five days?

“I—yeah,” he said finally, relaxing when she finally moved her hand away. His forehead was itchy. He resisted the urge to scratch it.

Lisa looked amused.

“You’re not a very physically affectionate person, are you?”

“I – what? Oh. I… I don’t know,” Gilbert mumbled, giving in and rubbing the back of his hand against his forehead. “My girlfriend used to complain I was – well, not my girlfriend. The girl I was involved with. Living with. Oh – wait, no, it wasn’t like – we were in a relationship. Sort of. It wasn’t weird or anything although she did refuse to let me meet her dad and step-mom so I just had to settle for her really weird, estranged mother who hated me – wow. Wow this – this is a lot. A lot of information. Sorry.”

He snapped his mouth shut. Maybe all the terror from skiing had melted the logic center of his brain. When he risked a glance at Lisa, she looked decidedly unamused.

“You had a girlfriend?”

“Had! Yeah – had, past tense,” Gilbert said, a bit relieved. It was short lived as Lisa’s eyes narrowed.

“So you don’t identify as gay.”

“…Uh. No… I guess not,” Gilbert said slowly, not sure what to make of the weird reaction.

Lisa clicked her tongue and turned back to the television for a moment. Her nails were tapping out an irritated staccato against her leg, and it didn’t take long for her to turn and ask sharply, “Are you really serious about my son, then? His last boyfriend was bisexual and I have little doubt that contributed to the horrible way in which he left Ludwig—”

“Wha—I’m not going to cheat on Ludwig!” Gilbert said immediately, so loudly that Lily stirred a bit and sat up, blinking her large eyes.

“Auntie Lisa?” she mumbled, and Lisa quickly turned to shush her. Lily gave the two of them a bemused look but settled down again, although her eyes remained open, trained on the television. 

Lisa slowly turned to fix Gilbert with a calculating stare before she stood and said, “Kitchen.”

Gilbert ground his teeth but stood and followed Ludwig’s mother. When they were alone again, he braced himself, ready for her to Francisfy him again. But instead she merely pulled two wine glasses out of a cabinet and then began hunting around under the sink.

“Ludwig’s father is something of a wine connoisseur,” she explained, her voice echoing strangely. “The cellar in the basement is stocked with priceless bottles, and then I go out and buy the one with the kangaroo on it. I believe it’s the only thing I do that Wolfgang finds truly repugnant.”

She emerged from the cabinet, a bottle of cheap chardonnay in hand. Gilbert stared on in bemusement, taking the full wine glass when it was offered to him. Lisa clinked hers against his and then immediately downed half the liquid. Gilbert sipped at his own, not sure what to make of the sudden charity. Lisa’s eyes tracked his movements from above her glass, but before Gilbert could say anything she set down her glass and offered him a smile. 

“We were all quite taken with Francis when he visited,” she said, twirling her glass in her hands. “He was charming and seemed to care for Ludwig, so you can imagine my shock when he took Wolfgang’s side in the great wine debate and I was left to drink an entire box of the stuff alone with Ludwig. I should have known then –”

“It comes in boxes?” Gilbert asked weakly.

“—that he wasn’t really a good fit for this family. And yes, it does.”

Lisa set her glass down and fixed Gilbert with a hard stare. “I know this is horribly uneducated of me, but I worry that… you having the same preferences and having a rather… rocky dating past…” She trailed off, looking for the first time that evening, uncomfortable. But even as her eyes darted to the side and her teeth worried at her bottom lip, there was a resolution in the carriage of her shoulders that Gilbert recognized as Ludwig’s. It loosened his tongue enough to speak.

“Francis is a dick,” he said bluntly, sipping at his wine again. “Pardon my French. The guy is a complete tool and to be honest if you were my mother right now I’d be hugging you with gratitude. But between Ludwig’s tolerance of the guy and Vash’s hero-worship– I swear to god I think the kid has a shrine dedicated to Francis hidden somewhere in this house. And I know it’s stupid getting hung up on a kid’s opinion but… not a lot of kids like their doctors, so… I was kind of hoping that these not-patients-of-mine kids would like me. But as Vash likes to remind me, I’m not ‘cool,’ or. Whatever.”

Lisa blinked and then abruptly burst out laughing. She drained her glass and poured another, saying very firmly, “If there were a shrine I would have destroyed it long ago, believe you me. I try to keep my opinions of Francis light-hearted in front of Ludwig because he still does carry a bit of a torch for the man for whatever reason, but now that we’re not in dangerous company… I have never met a slimier, more unctuous man than him—”

“I really would like you to meet the director of the hospital where I work. He could give Francis a run for his money.” Gilbert rubbed the back of his neck, trying not to bristle at the torch-carrying comment. It was unfortunately true as hell, so not much he could protest, but it still stung a little. "And just for the record, I, uh... bisexuals aren't any more promiscuous —I think it's just that Francis is an asshole. Really wish Ludwig would see it that way, but he's still all... nice to the guy. Like you said."

"Incredibly worrisome," Lisa muttered, sipping at her wine. "And — well, you'll have to forgive me my ignorance. This is still a learning process for me. I can barely keep up with all the different types of sexualities and genders... in finance we tend to keep our personal lives to ourselves for the most part, so I don’t often have occasion to discuss such things.”

“In my profession we tend to over share. But it’s okay,” Gilbert said, feeling a bit awkward again. “I’m glad you dislike Francis – really, really glad, don’t get me wrong, but please don’t lump me in with him just because I’m not only about the dudes.” He paused and then suddenly blurted out in a fit of paranoia, “Is that why Ludwig’s dad doesn’t like me?! Does he know? Some… somehow? God, I – I never thought I’d be disliked for liking girls. Always thought it would be the other way—”

“I don’t think Wolfgang even understands the concept of bisexuality, so no, I don’t think that’s why he’s a bit… distant,” Lisa gently interrupted. “Wolfgang has always been fiercely protective of Ludwig. And of Vash and Lily. We’ve cared for them for a long time, since their parents are abroad so often. Wolfgang warmed up to Francis initially because… in all honesty, Francis was more superficial appealing than you. Very charming, kind, didn’t call the children ‘little monsters’ when he thought we weren’t listening.”

“Shit.”

Lisa burst out laughing again and gave Gilbert a fond smile, lightly patting his arm. “And that would be why you’ve endeared yourself to me. And – really, I do apologize for my reaction.” She cleared her throat and took another hearty sip of wine. “I know I’m not the most impartial when it comes to my son’s love interests, but you do seem to have good intentions, and to care for him a good deal.”

“Good’s… not really enough to describe it,” Gilbert said quietly, watching the wine swirl around in his glass. “But it’s… it’s still kind of weird and a little scary to admit just how much.”

“Loving someone is one of the more frightening experiences in life, I’ve come to find.”

“I – y-yeah,” Gilbert stammered, hiding his flush as best he could behind his wine glass. He took a swig and then muttered, “Almost as scary as that god-forsaken mountain.”

Lisa burst into peals of laughter again, the noise echoing against the stainless steel appliances.

“What’s so funny?”

Gilbert glanced over his shoulder at Ludwig, relieved to see him. The feeling was short-lived. Ludwig’s face was pale and his expression haggard, despite the tinny smile playing around his lips.

“Your boyfriend was regaling me with tales of his skiing misadventures,” Lisa said primly, grabbing another glass and pouring her son a drink. Ludwig accepted it with quiet thanks and leaned against the counter next to Gilbert. His shoulder was pressing into Gilbert’s. Almost painfully. Gilbert would have moved, but he could feel Ludwig shaking, and so he stayed. Pressed just a bit closer, even, letting his fingers touch the small of Ludwig’s back.

“Rough call?” he asked quietly.

“Something like that.” Ludwig cleared his throat. “It’s nice to see you two getting along.” He downed the rest of his wine and then held his glass out towards his mother. She gave him a small smile and pressed the bottle into his hand instead.

“Gilbert’s been positively lovely,” Lisa said, but her eyes were tense with worry. “What sort of call?”

“Missed a meeting,” Ludwig said, refilling his glass. He kept the bottle close. “They’re already pissed at me for taking a week off for vacation. Unheard of before.”

Gilbert snorted. “Right, because you working through almost every weekend since we’ve known each other means this is just classic ‘slacker Ludwig’ behavior,” he muttered, rubbing small circles against Ludwig’s back with his thumb to try and keep him calm. “I hope you told them where they could shove it.”

“Actually I more begged for my job than told them to shove things, but the sentiment was the same in the end,” Ludwig said wearily. “Lester intervened for me and so I don’t have to emergency fly back tomorrow like they originally wanted. Which is fine but it means that in the near future I’m going to owe that slime ball a favor.”

“Is this the same Lester who looked down at the urinals?” Gilbert asked, his blood already starting to boil.

“The same.”

“What – what are you two talking about?” Lisa ventured.

Gilbert caught Ludwig’s eyes, silently asking him if he really wanted him to tell his mother the story of the senior trade commissioner who had checked out Ludwig’s junk in the bathroom. They were ninety-nine percent sure. Gilbert had insisted they’d reenact the peeping. Ludwig hadn’t found it as funny or as important as he had.

Ludwig’s exhausted gaze clearly said he didn’t care but to please make the explanation short if he did offer one. Gilbert leaned his head against his boyfriend’s shoulder and informed Lisa, “One of Ludwig’s superiors is a creep and checked out his junk. We’re pretty sure.”

Lisa blinked her large, brown eyes, and then bit back a snort of alarmed laughter. “O-Oh? Is this not a common practice—”

“No, Mother, most gay men still respect the unspoken urinal rules,” Ludwig said wearily. He shook his head and then asked, “So what were you two talking about?”

“My past, mostly,” Gilbert said, leaving out Francis and Lisa’s weird prejudice against bisexual men. Didn’t need to burden Ludwig with anything more.

“Your past?” Ludwig echoed, an odd look on his face. “What – like your foster homes?”

Gilbert nodded slowly, not sure what to make of Ludwig’s crumbling expression. “Just vague stuff,” he said quietly, tilting his head to the side. “Nothing much you haven’t heard before.”

“Nothing much?”

And there was the tone of absolute injury. Verbal landmines were sometimes impossible to avoid with Ludwig, and judging from the look of betrayal on Ludwig’s face, Gilbert had just stepped on a big one. His leg was probably blown off from the knee down. 

Lisa looked between the two of them and then asked, “Should I leave you two alone?”

“Please,” Ludwig muttered, rummaging around under the sink just like his mother had. He emerged with another bottle of wine and set about uncorking it. Lisa caught Gilbert’s eyes, giving him an apologetic smile before she scuttled out of the kitchen. Gilbert watched her go, the lifeline of escape trailing behind her until it was out of his reach. Goddammit.

The pop of the cork caught his attention. He turned just in time to see Ludwig take a swig from the bottle before pouring himself a glass. 

“You and your mom have similar tastes in wine, huh,” Gilbert said quietly. “I remember making fun of you for ordering the cheap stuff on our third date.”

“All wine tastes the same,” Ludwig muttered, downing half his glass. “And right now the taste I’m after is drunk, anyway. Need to bleach Lester’s look of smug satisfaction out of my brain.”

“He is a total prick,” Gilbert agreed, rubbing his hand over Ludwig’s forearm. “But I think three glasses of wine in the span of two minutes will probably be enough to get you going, so why don’t I just take – Ludwig, let go of the bottle.”

Ludwig stubbornly refused to relinquish his hold for a good three seconds before he finally unwrapped his fingers from around the cheerful kangaroo. He ran his thumb around the lip of his glass, the movement fixed and measured. Gilbert waited for Ludwig to break the silence, and when that didn’t seem to be happening he cautiously offered, “Why are you upset?” May as well blow his other leg off too. Even things out.

Ludwig’s blue eyes darted up for a moment before he looked away again.

“…It’s… it’s weird to me that you’re sharing personal things about your past with my mother,” he finally mumbled. “When it took me so long to get anything about it out of you.”

“Anything – Ludwig, I’m fairly sure I told you I was a foster home kid on our first date,” Gilbert said in bemusement. “How is that ‘a while’?”

“I mean more personal things. How many homes you lived in, how you felt –” Ludwig pursed his lips and fell stubbornly silent, as he was wont to do when he was forced to emote beyond his normal capacity. “And that particular aspect of your past… It’s… loaded. When it comes to us.”

Ah. Right. His little ‘foster-boyfriend’ breakdown that Ludwig seemed dead-set on dredging up whenever possible

“Seriously, Ludwig, I barely told her anything,” he said with a little sigh. “And my past isn’t really yours to police. Just to remind you.”

“I know that,” Ludwig said, his voice carrying an edge to it. Wine must be sinking in. “I know that. I just wish – every time you’ve talked about it except for that one glimpse during our fight, you’re so flippant and distant. You recite facts but you don’t—”

“I know. I’m a hardened, unemotional beast when it comes to my tragic, orphan past,” Gilbert deadpanned, biting back his irritation. “Like I told your mom – here, you’ll appreciate this – like I told your mom, the only reason I hate not having parents now is because I have no access to my long-term medical records or memories. That’s it.”

“…That’s it,” Ludwig repeated slowly. “That’s all you dislike about not having parents. Shoddy access to medical records.”

“What, like yours are such paragons of parental virtue that I should be stricken with envy?” Gilbert snapped, his temper flaring. “Not all of us need cloying family dynamics to be happy, Ludwig—”

“Why do you insist on pretending that this doesn’t bother you?! You’re an incredibly emotional person, Gilbert, and it’s – it’s fucking weird that I’ll look over and see your face scrunched up like you’re trying not to be sick when Dad or Mom shows you kindness, but when I ask you what’s wrong you just say ‘bad shellfish’ for the fifth time in a row and laugh at your own stupid humor. I know you’re reacting more to being around a family than you let on and I don’t understand why you’re being so pig-headed about hiding it!”

“Because how do you broach the topic of ‘gee, boyfriend, it sure is weird when your relatives are nice to me, maybe they should beat the shit out of me instead to replicate my worst foster home experience, oh by the way that actually happened isn’t that so stereotypically hilarious’ without suddenly coming off as whiny and Lifetime-original-movie-y and fucking self-centered? I’m a guest! I’m here to eat your parent’s food and make them question your taste in men, not break down weeping any time a father-figure reminds me that I didn’t learn how to change a tire or throw the perfect curveball growing up!”

And there went the first floodgate on his emotional dam. Ludwig sure did have a way of breaking them.

Gilbert grabbed the bottle of wine, pouring himself another glass and downing it. Fuck it. He was joining Ludwig. Maybe they’d both just start weeping uncontrollably and forget about this stupid conversation.

Ludwig was staring at him, his mouth slowly opening and closing like a broken screen door. It finally clicked shut.

“…Your foster family hit you?”

Gilbert pursed his lips, wincing as his hip protested his sudden shift in weight. Fucking skis. 

“Just the one,” he finally muttered, setting aside the wine. If Ludwig was going to force him to remember, he wasn’t going to risk being truly drunk for the experience. “And it wasn’t anything bad. They were just the typical disciplinarian types. When you have eight kids running around you’ve got to maintain order. Some people do that with yelling. Some do it with rulers. The results really aren’t that different. I think I actually preferred the ruler. Easier to swallow than verbal lashing.” He shrugged and looked out the window. “But again, it’s not that—”

“You’re doing it again.”

Gilbert felt his eye twitch. He met Ludwig’s gaze. His boyfriend looked incredibly lost.

“…Doing what.”

“Stating facts,” Ludwig said quietly. “Like you’re talking about a child who wasn’t you.”

Gilbert pursed his lips and shrugged. “He may as well not be. The point of growing up is to take the useful parts of your past and put them to work for you, discarding the rest. One family being shitty is a month-long drop in the bucket of my otherwise pretty good life.” He could feel himself starting to shut down. Just like he always did when people made him linger too long on stupid shit. Rage would quickly follow. He really didn’t want to unleash it on Ludwig.

“The point of growing up – Gilbert, people never really stop growing,” Ludwig said, fiddling neurotically with his glass. “You can’t tell me you haven’t changed from age twenty to thirty.”

“I know how to suture a ruptured spleen now. Guess that’s different,” Gilbert deadpanned, setting his glass aside. His head was pounding. White wine always did give him migraines. White wine and meddling do-gooders. He sounded like a Scooby-Do villain.

“Can you drop the sarcasm for five fucking seconds?” Ludwig’s voice was starting to grow hard again. From the wine or temper, Gilbert couldn’t tell. “My point is that if that’s your approach to life, picking and choosing memories and experiences and ignoring the rest, then – then what are you going to do if we break up? Will I just end up in a mental trashcan in your brain?”

Gilbert eyed Ludwig. His boyfriend’s flushed face and desperate expression was making him feel guilty all over again. But it wasn’t his fault that Ludwig had chosen to indulge in a masochistic conversation after being subjected to other awfulness. Best to rein it in. Quickly.

Gilbert took a little step forward, tilting his head to the side like he knew made Ludwig forgive him almost instantly. Even after that time he let a blob of melted marshmallow fall onto the carpet.

“Are you going to break up with me?” he asked simply.

Ludwig stared at him for a long minute, his lips pressed together. He slowly shook his head and mumbled a contrite, “No.” Meekness. Alcohol was kicking Ludwig into the next stage of emotional crumblage.

Gilbert let his hand rest on Ludwig’s bicep, lightly rubbing his soft sweater as he gave his boyfriend a quick kiss.

“Then don’t worry about it,” he said quietly. “I’m not planning on breaking up with you either. And I don’t… I’m not really all that great. At letting go of shit. As you probably know. I talk a big game but my emotional plays are pretty limited to temper tantrums or stony silence.”

“You still have those emails from Eliza saved. You keep reading them and crying,” Ludwig mumbled, pressing his forehead against Gilbert’s a bit too heavily. Gilbert quickly wrapped an arm around his waist to keep the pressure from getting to be too much.

“Lutz, that was a few months ago,” Gilbert said as patiently as he could. “Are you jealous of her—”

“I don’t want you to cry over my emails,” Ludwig said quietly, wrapping his arms around Gilbert and pulling him against his chest. “You lived with Eliza too. And. And then emails happened. And you hate her so much.”

“I don’t hate her,” Gilbert mumbled, not really liking the suffocating feeling of Ludwig’s sweater against his face. “It’s just complicated. And holy shit you got drunk really fast.”

“I did,” Ludwig mumbled, his breath hot against Gilbert’s ear. “I’m sad. That’s why.”

Gilbert rubbed Ludwig’s back, the two words digging in far deeper than Ludwig had probably intended them to. 

“Why sad?”

Ludwig mumbled something, his large fingers reaching into Gilbert’s pocket. They pressed against his wallet, and with an anxious twisting in his stomach, Gilbert realized what Ludwig was getting at. The key. He’d shoved it in his wallet because like the professional he was, his key ring was still at his apartment.

“You don’t want me to move in?” Gilbert blurted out, suddenly not minding the heat and scratch of Ludwig’s sweater so much.

Ludwig shook his head, his breath raspy.

“No – no, that’s not it,” he said quietly. He pulled away just a bit, pressing a hand against his face. Gilbert’s neck felt cold from where Ludwig’s breath had been. 

“I want to be close.”

Gilbert swallowed his first response. Maybe he hadn’t understood.

“Close?” he said softly. “Ludwig – Ludwig, I’m moving in with you. I’m visiting your family, I—”

“You wouldn’t even tell me the name of your foster parents. The good ones – the ones with the orange cookies you tried to get me to replicate,” Ludwig continued softly, scraping his fingers through his hair in agitation. “When I asked you just laughed and asked why that would matter. I’ve been trying to learn about you. I want to know how you work; I wish I could read you half as well as you can me but…” He suddenly lowered his arm, blue eyes distant as he stared out the window at the snowy backyard.

“But you don’t even care yourself, do you. Not really. I can’t… I can’t make you care about something. That’s not how human beings work. And I know you hate it when I pry. The paranoid part of me is worried that your reaction is because… because there’s something there that shaped you in your past. Something that made you work as a pediatric surgeon. Something that made you pursue a doomed relationship with Eliza. Some part of you that you don’t like and you’re afraid to look at it, much less let me see.”

Gilbert could only stare at Ludwig, wondering in disbelief how someone could think about him so much. To be so focused on him that he worried about what he wasn’t told, not out of envy or jealousy but out of sheer desire to know. To know, to help. To be close.

It really wasn’t fair. Not that relationships ever were. But he could follow Ludwig’s upbringing since he was a child. It was traced in pictures upstairs for him. Soft, chubby cheeks. Overly stern elementary school photos. Candid shots. The beach. Wildlife sanctuary. Birthday candles. Ludwig’s eyes growing bluer over the years, his hair stricter, his posture more rigid, expression more cunning, more aware. More kind.

The frames in Gilbert’s office still had the stock photos in them. Man with dog. Woman with flowers. Child and bubbles.

He hadn’t even bothered to buy any for his apartment. Why did it take Ludwig worrying about him to make him realize? Such a simple part of being a person, of building connections. And he’d been missing it.

He didn’t even have a fucking cat. Even Eliza had cats and she was farther down on the sociopath ladder than he was.

Ludwig suddenly turned his head, offering him a vacant smile. “Sorry. I’m being melodramatic. Almost getting fired will do that to a person, I hear.”

“It’s fine.” Gilbert heard himself respond automatically. The rest of his brain was elsewhere. Shoved in a frame. “It’s fine. I’m not mad.”

“Well that’s –good.”

Gilbert reached for his wine glass with a sudden desperation, his hand shaking as he brought it to his lips. 

A gentle touch to his wrist stopped him. He peered at Ludwig through the glass, the odd-fishbowl effect weirdly unfunny at that moment.

“What.”

“You’re shaking.”

“No shit – no shit, Ludwig, you know I don’t like talking about this stuff. Self-revelation really isn’t my bag, I’m pretty content digging myself into an ever-narrowing social grave the older I get. Isn’t that the point of aging? Losing touch with the bevy of friends you had in high school and then in college and then in med school because hey, that’s what growing up is, it’s getting lonelier except that most people at least have a fucking parent or an uncle or a rad loveable-ex-con of a grandfather to keep them company for a bit but I – I’ve got. I’ve got no. Safety net.”

He set his glass down, watching birds flit by in the garden. They were frantic, looking for food. Apparently Ludwig’s mother put seeds and fruit out for them but the snow had buried it all.

He’d been here before. In this uncomfortable mental place. College had been the first time. In his dorm room, listening to his roommate chat with his aunt on Skype. Somehow it hadn’t seemed so void, then. Completely absent of promise. Maybe it had been because he was only eighteen, just starting his college career, the fact that he was even in college a miracle in and of itself, the scholarship he’d gotten still a source of pride.

Now he was thirty. No one gave scholarships to thirty year olds. They were called grants instead, and the obtaining of them more a matter of course than any kind of pride.

Would his parents have been proud.

The question came out of nowhere. Oddly enough it had never visited him before. He’d assumed his parents had been drug users or teenagers or the sorts of people who didn’t read expiration dates on condoms. He’d always assumed he was better than them, smarter, more accomplished. Doctors didn’t give up babies to foster homes. He was a miracle, a genius, dragging himself out of poverty with ragged and bleeding fingernails. Of course they’d be proud. What else could they be.

Gilbert could only stare blankly ahead. At the birds, dying from cold in the garden.

“…I never wanted to know.”

Ludwig remained respectfully silent. 

Gilbert licked his lips. They were cracked. Probably from skiing.

“The thought crossed my mind a few times. To look them up or… even get started on that whole process. I was in the hospital – I was a weak kid. I was there for so long but someone… someone paid money for my bills when it got to be too much. It had to be them –I was in middle school when I first made the connection. It had to be them, who else… who else would care. Who else would set up a scholarship that was practically tailored for me, who else – but then I’d think. I’d think I was just. Creating a comic book for myself. The unstoppable surgeon, aided from the darkness by his estranged parents. I fed myself that narrative until I was confident that no matter who they were… strung-out losers or genius doctors themselves, that they’d. Be proud of me. I guess if that’s. If there’s anything that governs how I am and how I act, that’s it. False. Superiority complex.”

He pulled out his wallet. The key he set on the island counter. His driver’s license he pulled out. He stared at the small picture of himself before handing it out to Ludwig.

“This is the only print picture I’ve kept of myself past age eleven. I don’t know what to with that useless fact about myself, but. There it is.”

Ludwig took the driver’s license, holding it carefully in his thick fingers. His lips twitched upwards. Very slightly.

“God. You’re so… you’re really… really hot,” Ludwig said, his cheeks turning a bit red. “I can’t believe you ever let me near your face – what if I’d fucked it up somehow. Dinged your cheekbones or… made your perfect lip all. Swollen.” Ludwig winced and pressed the plastic card against his face, squeezing his eyes shut. “Shit – sorry, I know you were having a moment, but I’m – well I’m drunk. And… uh. You know. Where. Brain is when. Either melancholy or. Souther. Than that.”

Gilbert let out a snort of surprised laughter. He lightly flicked Ludwig’s forehead, over the card.

“Yeah. I’m well-versed in that particular facet of your personality,” he said, Ludwig’s embarrassed laughter making the frame around his grey matter splinter enough to release some of the pressure. He let out a slow breath and butted his forehead against Ludwig’s sternum, silently asking for a hug. Ludwig’s arms automatically wrapped around him. His lips pressed against his hair as his soft voice murmured, “They would.”

“Who would what,” Gilbert mumbled, his eyes sliding shut.

“They,” Ludwig repeated softly. “Be proud.”

Gilbert laughed against Ludwig’s chest. “Ever the perfect boyfriend. Sticking up for me in front of the parents. Existent or non.”

“Damn straight. If they have a problem with your career choice or hairstyle or weight—”

“The hell’s wrong with my weight—”

“—you can rest assured I’ll politely refute them.” 

Ludwig gave his cheek a little kiss, and the warmth of his lips and the sudden smell of Ludwig that overwhelmed him – spice and sweat and wine. It made Gilbert’s throat tighten.

His fingers fisted in Ludwig’s sweater. The god-awful itchy thing. The girls on the television had been unmuted. They were singing about something. Springtime. He could hear Lily’s cheerful voice, Lisa’s awkward snorts of laughter he’d come to recognize as meaning she’d had too much to drink or was too exhausted to censor herself.

He felt the words coming and stopped them for just a moment, weighting them against his tongue before cautiously spilling out.

“I want to find them.”

Ludwig’s chest stopped its calm, steady rhythm. His arms tightened around Gilbert just a bit more.

“…I’ll help you.”

Gilbert squeezed his eyes shut, his shoulders trembling despite Ludwig’s hands against his skin. He let out a broken laugh and lightly headbutted Ludwig’s chest again.

“Why the fuck did we have this conversation in your parent’s kitchen,” he whispered, wincing when Lily’s laugh reached his ears again. “Emotionally vulnerable fucking has sort of become our brand. We’re sullying the good Gilwig name.”

“Gilwig is never going to be our celebrity couple name. It was already vetoed on the house floor so stop trying,” Ludwig murmured, his fingers lightly carding through Gilbert’s hair. “Ludbert is the obvious choice. Don’t make me bring lawyers in over this. Not like we had to do for the dark versus milk chocolate debate.”

“You just have a child’s palate, that’s all.”

“And let’s make a pact to avoid using the word ‘child’ any time I start sporting a partial, okay?”

Gilbert paused and then rolled his hips just a bit. Ludwig made a weak noise and tried to pull away, but Gilbert still felt the slight pressure against his hip.

“Oh my god – me wanting to find my birth parents – that turns you on?!”

“You were being emotionally open – h-honesty and communication is my verbal oyster, you know that,” Ludwig grumbled, growling softly when Gilbert tightened his hold around him and didn’t let him escape.

“Your verbal oyster?”

“You know – they say oysters… aphrodi. Aphrodite.”

“Aphrodisiac,” Gilbert helpfully supplied, biting back a grin. He pushed himself up on his toes to give Ludwig a kiss, letting his lips part just a bit. Enough to tease, to promise that maybe later, when they weren’t in his parent’s kitchen—

“Ludwig, get your hand off my ass,” he murmured lovingly, nuzzling his boyfriend’s cheek. 

“I was losing my balance—”

“I can’t believe I even for a second thought you might be a spy.”

Ludwig laughed quietly, but moved his hand to the small of Gilbert’s back instead. They pulled apart, just enough for Gilbert to quirk an eyebrow up at Ludwig. He felt calm. Stable. It was the right choice. Took thirty years to make, but that was still young. That was still enough time to know. To make something from the result.

“After we move in,” Gilbert promised, rubbing his thumb against one of Ludwig’s sideburns. “I’ll see when my next break is so I can go up to the middle-way house where I first lived.”

“Where is it?” Ludwig asked quietly, tilting his head into the touch.

“The city.”

“Our city?”

“The very same.”

“And you never—”

“Never. Not since I was eight.”

Ludwig made a small noise of understanding.

“Online?”

“Has to be in person. Confidential files. Ran into that when I was getting vaccination records.”

“And… am I allowed to—”

“If you’re not with me I’ll probably lose my shit and set the whole place on fire,” Gilbert said firmly. “It’s really better for everyone if you come.”

Ludwig nodded, his expression growing stern and solemn despite the wine.

“Thank you,” he said softly. The weight of the words nearly broke Gilbert. All he could do was nod and say them back, letting Ludwig hug him again in the middle of his parent’s kitchen, the first fingers of trepidation working their way up his spine.

He closed his eyes, ignoring what had to be Wolfgang’s surprised grunt from the door. No one else could grunt with judgment. Had to be him.

The fingers tried to pry at Ludwig’s gentle hold around him, but they weren’t quite strong enough. 

Gilbert broke their grip and tossed them aside, letting Ludwig talk him into helping with dinner prep, drowning again in the normalcy of Ludwig’s family life.

But still the doubt set in gradually, amidst the disaster of over-cooked pasta and roughly-chopped carrots. That maybe stock images in frames were the way to go, after all. Or maybe letting Ludwig’s family fill the frames instead. Close enough without really being a family of his own.

But if they broke up, then the pictures would go back to being nothing. Man with dog. Woman with flowers. Child and bubbles.

Gilbert quickly set down the plate on the table before he shattered it, surprised that even just the thought was enough to make him feel sick with terror.

Okay.

He carefully straightened out the place setting and turned to answer whatever Lisa had asked him, laughing when Vash made a face in response.

Okay. Breaking up clearly not an option. Terrified about biological parent’s real identity. Promised Ludwig, backing out not an option.

Shit.

Gilbert scrubbed at his face as he sat down at the dinner table, barely registering Ludwig’s hand on his knee.

Fucking. Shit.

This had better work out.

(x)

It took more boxes than Gilbert was expecting to haul all his stuff away. He’d asked Eliza if he could borrow her truck, but apparently she was still pissed at having to work to cover his shifts. So no truck.

Which meant shoving box after box of band T-shirts (“Seriously, Gilbert, do you really need this many”) and books and receipts and dental records into Ludwig’s compact, eco-friendly car, hoping the weight wouldn’t break the suspension. Gilbert had eventually started kicking boxes towards the stairs, hoping that gravity would help him out, but Sadiq had put a stop to that pretty quickly by yelling an unnecessary amount.

Gilbert wound up opening the window to let the cool air in. Cool being pushing zero. It was still the dead of winter. He sat down on the second to last box and looked around his empty apartment, blinking sweat out of his eyes as his body fluctuated between freezing to death and overheating. It was a fun mix.

The furniture would be staying. It had come with the place, after all. Move-in ready. That’s what he’d wanted after he and Eliza had split. But there was a reason he hadn’t been able to bring himself to sit on the couch and had opted for box instead. The sofa wasn’t his anymore. He felt weird about leaving ass prints on something that wasn’t his so soon before he was set to abandon it.

A large hand rested over his eyes, blocking the view of the threadbare couch. He grinned, closing his eyes, feeling his lashes catch against the callused skin.

“Ah, is that my one o’clock murderer? You’re late.”

“And you’re hilarious,” Ludwig muttered, giving the top of his head a little kiss before removing his hand. “My car managed not to embed itself in the tarmac on the drive over to my place, by the way, so you’re welcome for that. But you shouldn’t leave the door open while you’re spacing out. Need I remind you, this neighborhood isn’t the best.”

“Right. A surly drunk could come clambering through my window and make me fall in love with him,” Gilbert deadpanned, tilting his head back to grin up at Ludwig. “And then where would I be? Moving into his fancy townhouse, probably. Getting all sappy and emotional about a house key.”

“You have been tearing up an inordinate amount lately,” Ludwig said, nudging the box Gilbert was sitting on with his toe. “Up. This is the last one and it’s getting late.”

“Ah – well between stirring up leftover cat dander and missing work, that explains the random emotional bursts, hopefully,” Gilbert said, pushing himself to his feet. He shook out his wrist and then bent down to pick up the box.

“You do a last sweep of the place. I trust your eyes more than mine. Insert glasses joke here.”

“You have terrible vision that must be corrected with curved glass lenses,” Ludwig murmured, leaning down for a kiss.

“They’re actually a special plastic blend, but your sarcasm still cuts deep,” Gilbert murmured back, pressing his lips briefly against Ludwig’s before lightly kicking him in the rear. “Get going. I’m starved and I suspect you’ll want to cook at home to celebrate the fact that I just called it hom—and you’re tearing up! You’re fucking crying what a loser!”

“I’m happy my stupid boyfriend is moving in with me, you don’t need to point it out every time,” Ludwig grumbled, lightly shoving Gilbert. “Go put that in the car. I’ll be down in just a bit and we can drop your keys off at the realtor’s on the way out.”

“You’re still a loser,” Gilbert said affectionately, laughing when Ludwig just flipped him off before disappearing into the bedroom. He adjusted the box and then headed out into the hallway, pausing only to kick Sadiq’s door.

“Oi! Sadiq!”

“I know you’re leavin’, Gilbert, that’s not really kick-worthy in my book!” The surly voice floated out from the crack under the door. “I still better see your ass at trivia night next week. We’re fucked without you – no one else has gone out of their way to memorize pointless celebrity factoids!”

“It’s not pointless when it wins us five dollar gift cards to McDonald’s!” Gilbert yelled back, hiding his grin. “Take care of yourself and don’t scare the new neighbor!”

“You movin’ out is like a nightmare that never fuckin’ ends – just get outta here!”

The door thudded loudly as something hit against it from the inside. Gilbert bit back a laugh and then headed down the stairs, nearly falling at the end when he miscounted. He managed to retain his balance and jogged out to Ludwig’s car, humming under his breath. He set the box down in the gravel and then plunked down on top of it, waiting for his boyfriend to come out and unlock—

“Gil?”

Gilbert tensed at the familiar voice. He slowly pushed himself to his feet until he could see over the hedges. 

Elizaveta was standing in the middle of the walk, a bottle of wine tucked under her arm. It had a ribbon wrapped around the neck, strung through a card. Her eyes were swollen and red. Curly hair twisted back into a half-hearted bun, and when her bottom lip trembled, Gilbert remembered with a painful lurch why he had been so in love with her. She was such a disaster when she was upset. Just like he was.

“Eliza –”

Gilbert hopped over the hedge and stood a few feet in front of her, trying to hide his trepidation. “…What the hell are you doing here?”

She self-consciously adjusted the scarf around her neck and jammed her red beret onto her hair a bit better. It was in danger of slipping off.

“Bel. She told me you were moving,” she mumbled, scuffing her foot against the rough pavement. “And I could’ve asked to where but… I uh. I didn’t. So I wanted to catch you before you left to give you this.”

She thrust the bottle of wine out towards him, her jaw set and a hardened look on her face.

“I know you only tolerate wine, but just – take it. It was really fucking expensive and wine’s – it’s traditional. I figured you guys weren’t going to have a housewarming party so you can just drink it tonight or… whatever.”

Gilbert took a few steps closer and gingerly accepted the wine. Like it was a live grenade. He caught a glimpse of her normal chicken scratch writing on the card. Two names, and then a simple ‘Congrats.’

It made him grin despite Elizaveta’s general air of misery.

“Still can’t spell ‘congratulations,’ huh.”

She bristled.

“Spelling’s – overrated,” she mumbled, the fight leaving her in the space of two words. She shoved more of her hair underneath her hat and then said firmly, “Well, good luck in your new place. I’ll see you day after tomorrow.” She gave a brusque nod and started to leave, but in a moment of sudden panic Gilbert stammered, “W-Wait! Wait, Eliza, hold on a sec!”

Her worn boots stopped their shuffling and she turned to look over her shoulder.

“What,” she said sullenly. 

Gilbert fiddled with the bottle in his hands, risking a glance up at his apartment window. It was closed. Ludwig was almost done with his inspection, then.

“…Don’t you want to meet him?”

“Who.”

“Who – the other name you wrote on this card,” Gilbert said in exasperation. “It’s so fucked up that he’s met Roderich and hasn’t met—”

He stopped speaking the moment Eliza’s shoulders began to tremble. Her jaw was still set, but her lip was trembling again. It hardly took a genius to figure out which word had triggered the reaction.

A dark pit of rage lodged itself in Gilbert’s stomach, boiling his insides instantly.

“What did he do?”

“It was just a fight, Gilbert,” Eliza said, her voice souring. “I can’t even remember about what. Me being a horrible slob, probably. Ruining all his shit.”

“Just a fight?”

Eliza finally looked up, meeting Gilbert’s eyes for long enough that he relaxed. She still looked sullen and angry. Which was good. When Eliza was truly upset she closed off completely. Sullen meant not serious.

“That’s what I said.”

Gilbert let out a slow breath and then gave her a little look.

“You are messy, though,” he said dryly. “Drove me nuts when we were together. How do you shed so much and not end up bald. It’s a weird superpower you’ve chosen to wield.”

“That’s just what happens when you have long hair – why am I getting into this with you?” Eliza rolled her eyes, but her shoulders relaxed and her feet stopped their anxious shuffling. She opened her mouth to say something else, but then Ludwig’s voice rang out across the front stoop.

“Inspected and locked. I can’t believe you managed to scrub out the fridge to my stand…ards…”

Gilbert turned to smile at his boyfriend, inwardly sweating bullets for whatever sadistic reason his body had come up with. Ludwig was standing on the stoop, looking curiously at Elizaveta. She returned his gaze evenly, not backing down an inch. Understanding dawned in Ludwig’s eyes before Gilbert had to make any awkward introductions.

“Doctor Héderváry, I presume.”

Eliza’s bushy eyebrow shot up to her hairline.

“Mr. Schmidt,” she said, her voice light with affected civility. “Are you always in the habit of greeting new people with dated literary quotes?”

“Just when I find myself off-kilter,” Ludwig said, tucking the key in his pocket as he headed down the steps. He stopped in front of Eliza and held out his hand, a polite smile on his face.

“And just ‘Ludwig’ is fine, thanks.”

Eliza’s other brow inched its way up her forehead, but she grasped Ludwig’s hand and gave it a firm shake before letting go.

“ You’re a bit more polite than Rodie made you out to be,” she said lightly, glancing towards Gilbert. “I anticipated you yanking a car battery out of the nearest vehicle upon spotting me just to have something to throw. I think Rodie’s short stature makes him overestimate other men’s musculature.”

“I’m a good deal more pleasant when I’m not under stress,” Ludwig said diplomatically. “And why bother with a car battery when I have car keys in hand. Much easier to just start the engine and run you ov—”

“Ludwig! Can you – the serial killer talk, we’ve discussed this,” Gilbert said quickly, “Down a notch in front of strangers. They don’t get that you’re being wry.” 

Ludwig raised an eyebrow but then simply shrugged his broad shoulders.

“Glad we’re going with ‘wry’ this time and not ‘fucking disturbing.’ Which, by the way, the minister-president of the Netherlands still laughs about every time he sees me, so tuck that away in your ‘times swearing came in handy’ box,” he said, picking up the last few boxes to set inside the trunk. Ludwig had packed everything away like a perfect Tetris board inside the cramped space of his car, and had somehow allocated the perfect amount of space for the boxes that remained. 

Preparing ahead.

Also kind of serial-killer-esq.

Gilbert shook off the thought and turned back to Eliza. He held up the bottle of wine.

“Thanks for this,” he said, trying to pop the awkward silence balloon that was sucking up the air between them. “We – you should come over some time and drink it. With me. Obviously. Please don’t show up alone.”

Eliza’s bright green eyes slid to the side, her gaze resting on Ludwig for a moment before she said dryly, “Don’t you need to check with the man of the house first before you start inviting strangers over to imbibe?”

Gilbert saw Ludwig’s shoulders tense, but he knew Eliza was just compensating for her own discomfort. It was the same thing she had done in med school when their professor who didn’t trust women had forced her and her alone to expand upon her answers. She’d exploded two classes later. The guy was fired the next day.

…Oh shit.

“There’s no ‘man,’” Gilbert said quickly, springing into defuse-mode with practiced ease. When he and Eliza had not-dated she’d get way, way too drunk at parties and start picking fights. Adapting had been necessary. “There’s just men. Two of us. Only two – we’re not running a harem.”

“And there goes my incentive to visit.” Eliza adjusted her bag and then shook her head, her long curls smacking her in the face. She didn’t seem to notice. “Maybe in a few months, when you’re settled. And when your boyfriend doesn’t look ready to deck me. Or vomit. I don’t think he can make up his mind.”

“Right now, Doctor Héderváry, all I want to do is finish moving Gilbert’s things,” Ludwig said, pushing himself out of the trunk of the car. He slammed the door shut and then leaned down to press a quick kiss to Gilbert’s lips. It made Gilbert feel like squirming away. Especially when Eliza just stared. Like she was watching two hyenas rutting at the zoo. A vague, morbid interest in the sexually bizarre.

“I’m going to go drop off the key at the office, then we can take off,” Ludwig said lightly, either not noticing or ignoring Eliza’s blatant staring.

Gilbert just nodded and scrubbed at his lips, pitching forward a bit when Ludwig clapped him on the shoulder as he passed. Ludwig walked off, leaving Gilbert alone with Eliza. She was still staring at him. Calm. Unblinking. It was enough to make Gilbert feel hunted.

“What.”

“Hm?”

Eliza tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her reddened-eyes sliding off to the right.

Gilbert opened the car door and jammed the wine in between a couple pillows.

“Why the stare.”

“I didn’t think you’d have a socially inept boyfriend. That’s all.”

Gilbert slammed the door shut, turning to stare at Eliza.

“He’s not inept,” he said sharply. “He’s a diplomat—”

“He’s kind of an asshole is what he is,” she interrupted. “He had to have heard me talking about the fight; he had to have seen that my eyes are all disgusting and puffy like I’ve just watched a sad dog movie marathon. Why the hell would he kiss you in front of me? Just to rub it in?”

Gilbert stared dumbstruck at Eliza, his mouth falling open just a bit. Like a cartoon character’s.

“…Oh. My god,” he said slowly. “I can’t believe – you’re fucking doing it again.”

Eliza swiped hair out of her eyes. More angrily this time.

“Doing what?”

“Making everything about you,” Gilbert said, the words falling in an even, sure cadence. “This is the same thing – it used to drive you nuts whenever any of my friends would even bump against their girlfriend or boyfriend. Like it was a weird competition or like you felt like they were trying to spite you because you were too fucking awkward to hold my hand in public—”

“I didn’t want to hold your hand in public because then the moment we were alone you’d start babbling about how you didn’t want to do that unless we had a ‘proper label’ for our relationship,” Eliza snapped, her thin frame starting to tremble again. “And I don’t. I don’t like people kissing in front of me! Fiction is okay – they’re being paid, there’s nothing there, but you know I can’t stand it in real life— especially when—”

“Yeah well Ludwig doesn’t know that,” Gilbert snapped, losing his temper completely. For what felt like the billionth time. “Ludwig doesn’t know that and even though your eyes are red and your hair looks like you just came back from Hermione Granger auditions how the fuck is Ludwig supposed to know what Elizaveta Héderváry’s ‘Breakup-Imminent’ face looks like?! He’s not personally acquainted with it like I am – he probably just thought you had allergies! And if Roderich is making you upset enough to come crawling to me for friendship after a month of radio silence then just fucking dump the guy!”

He suddenly pointed to the bottle of wine in the car, its dark green glass still visible through the window.

“And you know what –” he continued in a sudden burst of irritated fury. “I’m not going to fucking touch this until you break up with him. You break up, come over, you can cry about it all you want or break things – we can go to a thrift store again and buy you a set of glasses just to smash, I don’t care. But I’m not touching that until you break up. And if it ends up rotting in the back of my pantry, whatever! Great! Get married and have a thousand babies that you can train to hate public kissing or walk around like their father with a gigantic stick up his ass. Or maybe that cork will be dug out of the neck in a week with a screwdriver because hell knows where my corkscrew is and Ludwig secretly hates wine so I’m fairly sure he doesn’t keep one around on principle alone. And don’t show up on my doorstep having just cried, drop off a bottle of mystery wine with the expectation that I will abandon everything I’m doing just to try and pry your life’s most recent tragedy out of you! That’s not friendship – that’s not anything, that’s just fucking awful! Who does that to a person they haven’t talked to in a month outside of work?! Where the hell—”

A quiet noise made Gilbert stop his tirade. He took a step back, breathing heavily.

Elizaveta’s gaze was trained on the ground. Large, heavy tears rolled down her cheeks, falling in mosaic tiles on the dusty asphalt. Her lips were pressed stubbornly together. Like they were glued shut.

Gilbert watched her silently cry, unable to find in her shrinking form the loud, confident person he’d fallen unapologetically in love with. Elizaveta was ugly when she cried, usually. Snot flying everywhere. Loud promises of revenge, redemption, orders for him to chime in with the occasional pejorative against whomever or whatever had wronged her.

Elizaveta usually owned her tears. But these she was mutely abandoning as quickly as they formed.

Gilbert took a step forward, his toes stopping just short of the first dark splotch on the pavement. He opened his mouth to speak, but Eliza parted her lips before he could.

“I fucked up,” she said evenly. Her voice was deeper than normal. Choked with mucus and salt.

“…How so?”  
“This fight with Roderich is three weeks old,” Eliza continued, dragging her sleeve across her eyes. She sniffed once, and then spoke as if she hadn’t. “When we were overwhelmed at the hospital he snapped at me and said the staff all gave you special treatment, that he was tired of surgeons like us dictating everything. He accused me of sleeping with you and I said something like ‘not recently’ and he lost his temper and we yelled. I don’t even remember what about. Which is the stupid part because every day since then I’ve. Been. This.”

She gestured vaguely to herself, her hand falling to her side again. She finally lifted her head, and Gilbert could see the resigned apathy in her expression.

“It’s like the two of us are a ‘choose your own adventure’ book,” she said dully. “And somewhere along the way after our paths diverged I picked ‘Sisyphean crying cycle’ and you picked ‘Disney prince’ and what other outcome could there be, really. So yeah I came by hoping that I’d break down in front of you because then you’d have to ask why and I’d have to respond and maybe somewhere in the yelling I’d figure something out. Like why or – I’m not even sad anymore. I just. Start crying sometimes. When I’m prepping for surgery or watching the news or cutting up an apple I’ll just. Cry. And sort of watch myself crying from this other place and wonder ‘what the hell’s her problem she looks really pathetic when she cries. She just got snot on an apple and isn’t really doing anything about it.’ End scene.” 

She shrugged her shoulders and adjusted her bag again, glancing through the car door at the wine bottle.

“I know it’s a dick move to show up and Sisyphus all over your Disney prince but you’re the only one meddling enough to keep asking why long after I’ve tried to retreat. Or you used to be, I guess. Before you got all healthy and independent and lost your martyr streak when it came to me. Which, you know. Congrats on the mental stability. Wish you’d passed the ‘spontaneous crying’ buck to someone else, but I’m sure there’s some god up there tallying my karma and determining this just.”

Gilbert nudged his toe against the salt water in the asphalt, not sure what to say to that. Eliza was a doctor. She had to know why she was crying. But a clinical definition and vague treatment option plans weren’t much of an arsenal.

“There’s… there’s other people you can talk to, you know,” he finally said. “Professionals whose jobs aren’t… cutting open people and. Hoping they don’t bleed too much.”

“I can write myself a Prozac prescription, Gilbert. That – it. Wasn’t. What I needed.”

“Then what did you need?” Gilbert asked, watching Eliza calmly shove her hair underneath the back of her shirt to keep it suppressed in the growing humidity.

She shrugged again.

“Empathy, probably. What I said before. Someone to press the pills in my hand. I never was good at taking them myself. But I forgot how hard it is to empathize when there’s nothing wrong with you. If we can’t interject our own current sadness into a conversation about melancholia we can’t connect.”

She gave him a dry smile.

“You were a poor choice. And it really was shitty of me to expect otherwise, so I’ll see myself out. Good luck moving. Ludwig seems nice enough. Probably loaded if those Gucci pants are anything to go by. Surprised he doesn’t have Hermes hubcaps on his BMW. And that is my cue to see myself out. Take care.”

Gilbert watched her turn on her heel, the movement elegant and practiced. She was a queen in runny nosed grace and it was probably the last, arrogant turn of her head that made Gilbert take a step forward and catch her wrist in his hand.

“Wait – Eliza.”

His limbs moved on their own, wrapping around her frame and pulling it close against his own. She didn’t fight the embrace, but simply let it happen, her head falling forward to rest against his shoulder. Her hair smelled like oil and hydrogen peroxide and when she breathed the air rattled.

Gilbert closed his eyes. The touch to his back was so familiar. Bold and unwavering. 

“I’m getting snot on your shirt.”

“Ludwig has a washing machine as his first husband. I’ll ask to borrow it.”

“You don’t have to personify every household appliance.”

“Every named fridge is a step closer to a romp-filled Beauty and the Beast reality. Don’t trod on my dream.”

“How did it take you almost twenty seven years to realize you were into dudes.”

“The fact that I had a gigantic crush on Belle from age twelve on probably had something to do with it.”

“Ah yes, cartoon princesses. Securing the heterosexuality of men since 1989.”

“You should talk to Bel. Our nurse, not the aforementioned princess.”

Eliza fell silent, only sniffling occasionally.

“Why her,” she finally asked.

“Because she’s good at empathy.”

Gilbert pulled away, using his sleeve to wipe at Eliza’s damp cheeks. She raised an eyebrow and batted at his arm.

“I’m not an infant,” she said mildly. “And Bel’s… peppy. And nosy.”

“She’s good at keeping secrets when they’re serious enough,” Gilbert said firmly. “And she noses because she cares. That’s what you want, right?”

Eliza suddenly looked uncomfortable. She pursed her lips.

“I’ve barely exchanged a dozen non-professional words with her. Would she really want to listen to—”

“She would. Bel’s – she likes you. Admires, I mean. Mostly professionally.”

Eliza opened her mouth again, looking a bit bemused, but seemed to change her mind.

“…I’ll approach the nurse, then. If you really don’t want to talk.”

“I don’t mind,” Gilbert said quietly. “But Eliza, considering our history, I’m maybe not the best—”

“Gilbert, you almost re—oh. Doctor Héderváry. I’m sorry; I didn’t realize you were still here.”

Eliza immediately clammed up as Ludwig pulled abreast of Gilbert, looking between the two of them with his brow furrowed.

“I was just leaving, actually,” Eliza said before Gilbert could get a word in. “And fine, Gilbert. I’ll try the nurse next time – no need to look quite that intrigued, you deviant. I mean I’ll talk to her before I resign myself to snotting you up.”

“I’m not intrigued. I’m just glad you’re being proactive,” Gilbert said, ignoring the confusion radiating off of Ludwig. Eliza just raised an eyebrow and said lightly, “I’ll see you the day after tomorrow, Gilbert. We’ve got that kidney transplant to look forward to.”

“Buckets of fun, yeah,” Gilbert said, discretely pushing Ludwig’s hand away when his boyfriend reached for his. Eliza didn’t seem to notice, just waved and headed down the driveway, her hands clasping the strap of her bag rather tightly.

Gilbert waited until she was gone before letting out a low breath.

“What was that about?”

Ludwig’s question made Gilbert groan. He gestured to the car.

“Let’s start driving first,” he mumbled. “I’m tired of standing here.”

“Fair enough.”

They piled into the car, Gilbert carefully balancing a box of expensive plates on his lap. He looked out the window as they drove, waving to Eliza when they zoomed past her. She merely nodded, her face devoid of expression.

Next to him, Ludwig quirked an eyebrow.

“So are you going to tell me what that was?” he asked politely. “Why was your ex-girlfriend crying in your ex-driveway?”

“She wasn’t crying,” Gilbert said, resting his forehead against the window. “Not while you were there to see, anyway.”

“But she was still crying at some point in your driveway.”

“But she’d prefer you don’t know that. So as far as you’re concerned, crying took place elsewhere. Dimension X. A place you don’t know or care about.”

Ludwig pursed his lips. Gilbert could tell he wasn’t exactly pleased with his response. “Annoyingly vague, but I can play along, I guess,” Ludwig muttered. “Am I allowed to ask why she was crying in Dimension X? Hypothetically? Or why you wouldn’t let me hold your hand?”

“Eliza’s not a fan of PDA.”

“…Even elementary school kids hold hands—”

“I know.”

They fell quiet for a while. Ludwig turned on the radio. The steady drone of the newscaster’s voice helped soothe the wrinkles in Gilbert’s thoughts.

Ludwig suddenly spoke, his voice soft with contrition.

“Sorry. I’m – insecure, still. I suppose. Which I know is unfair. And in all honestly it’s nice that you’re still friends. You don’t seem to have many, which is me expressing concern and not belittling you because I’m certainly not one to talk about having non-work acquaintances.”

Gilbert glanced at Ludwig, not understanding.

“Friends? Me and who?”

“Eliza,” Ludwig said, still looking straight ahead. “Who else? It’s pretty rare that you can stay friends – or even on talking terms. Look at me and Francis. Although that’s… well, I do act weirdly around him as you know. But it’s not friendship. I’d never cry in front of him or tolerate him crying in front of me. And I think that’s one of the basic friendship tenets.”

Gilbert opened his mouth to say the required ‘we’re not friends,’ line, but then he stopped. He settled back in his seat, a bit of the old rust around a few years of his life chipping away. 

“…We’ll see if we’re still on speaking terms week after next. I’m making her take my shift so we can go get those foster records,” he finally said, relieved when Ludwig laughed. “And I’m sorry you’re insecure, but you really don’t have anything to worry about. Whatever… whoever I thought I loved isn’t. Really there anymore. And I know that even if I tried to rekindle something with her it’d feel fake and just—gross.”

“…Gross,” Ludwig repeated, an amused note to his voice.

“Really gross,” Gilbert said firmly. “Now that I’ve seen her vulnerable about relationship and emotional stuff – she used to hide that from me. But now that I know that she cries like a normal person and not just like an enraged orc, it’d feel…” He shuddered. “Like ‘banging-your-sister’ gross. Or ‘banging your mental health patient’ gross. Too weirdly personal. Because I think… I dunno. Whatever we had has… morphed. Into weird sister-slash-mental health patient. And I don’t think it’s possible to turn that back.”

“…I see.”

Ludwig drove in silence for a bit longer, his expression pinched. Gilbert rubbed his thumb against the back of Ludwig’s hand to try and get him to relax, but when that didn’t seem to be working he forced himself to ask, “What’s on your mind?”

“Huh? Oh…” 

Ludwig cleared his throat and then said haltingly, “I’ve – ah. Shed. Tears. In front of you before. So does that mean that…” He stumbled over his words for a moment longer and then finally asked weakly, “Does that make me gross?”

Gilbert blinked in surprise before letting out a quiet snort of laughter. He rested his head against Ludwig’s shoulder, ignoring his boyfriend’s warning, “Gilbert, that’s unsafe…”

“No,” he said firmly, pinching Ludwig’s bicep. “No, that makes you brave. Not that Eliza’s not – opening up to anyone isn’t easy, but you’re… you don’t try and goad me into asking what’s wrong. You bludgeon me with your issues head-on—”

“Wonderful phrasing, thank you for that.”

“—and force me to think about my own emotional shortcomings. It’s healthy, therefore not gross. Annoying sometimes, but not gross. Okay?”

Ludwig pursed his lips, but after a moment he mumbled, “Okay.” He didn’t sound very convinced, but Gilbert let it go for the time being. He didn’t have the energy left to argue.

Ludwig fiddled with the radio for a bit, before murmuring softly, “And your vulnerability issues rear their ugly heads once more.” He burst out laughing when Gilbert socked him in the arm and pushed him away. “But fine, fine. You’ve made your point. I’ll still be insecure but now that you’ve hinted at what’s wrong and I can more or less guess that Eliza’s upset about Roderich—”

“Dammit.”

“—all that’s left is to emphasize that I trust you. In a not ‘sisterly-slash-mental-health-patienty way.” Ludwig raised an eyebrow. “I’m assuming that’s all right for now. We can address further issues later.”

“Ugh,” Gilbert groaned, rubbing at his face even as he gave Ludwig a grateful smile. “Fine. Be reasonable and mature. Jackass.”

“It is my role in this relationship. Mature jackass.”

Gilbert laughed and then fell silent again, smiling just a bit when Ludwig took his hand to rest atop the stick-shift with his. They hit a slight bump, and Gilbert heard a quarter of his worldly possessions leave their Tetris-prison, air born for a few fleeting seconds.

Just to be safe…

At the next light, Gilbert unbuckled his seatbelt and reached behind him to dig around in the boxes. He grabbed the bottle of wine and pulled it up front, quickly buckling in again before Ludwig could yell at him. He set the bottle between his feet, breathing a bit easier. He caught Ludwig staring at him. When he raised an eyebrow in question Ludwig just shook his head and patted his shoulder before taking his hand once more.

“See?” he said quietly, gesturing towards the bottle. “You can call it ‘sisterly’ or ‘mental-patient-y’ all you want but most normal people just call it ‘being friends.’”

Gilbert glanced down at the bottle and then nudged it forward with his toe. Out of sight.

“Yeah,” he said absently, giving Ludwig’s hand a little squeeze. “Maybe someday soon.”


	12. TWELVE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally. Holy fuck. That’s all I’m going to say. But also a warning: this chapter has some blood and stuff in it that might make you queasy if you’re more sensitive.

The sound of cardboard giving way was not one Gilbert had expected to become intimately acquainted with.

“L-Ludwig – Ludwig, dammit wait a sec,” he panted, wincing as the corner of the box dug into his spine. Above him Ludwig stilled, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

“What?” he said, voice slightly labored. “You said not one of the dishes ones – this is books. Books… they’re supportive enough.”

“Supportive and digging into my back,” Gilbert muttered, shifting a bit. “And – holy shit you weigh a billion pounds can you use your legs maybe just a little?”

Ludwig reluctantly moved away, the neck of his open shirt riding down his shoulder. Gilbert let himself fall until his ass hit the floor and rubbed the small of his back. The wind gusting through the open window made him shiver, and he turned his head to stare despairingly at the mountains of boxes between him and the open panes.

“We’re really doing this fuck-all backwards,” he muttered, pushing against Ludwig’s chest to get him to lie down on the carpet. Ludwig submitted without much fuss, but he did quirk an eyebrow at the comment.

“What’s fuck-all backwards?” he asked, his hand sliding down Gilbert’s side to tug his pants just a bit lower.

“I mean – careful, I still have that bruise – I mean I expected you to go all drill-sergeant, force me to unpack every box immediately on pain of death or… I dunno, no sex for a month,” Gilbert murmured, his voice catching when Ludwig’s thumb traced his hipbone. “Instead we’re – Ludwig I think we’ve fucked on top of every one of these goddamn boxes. We’re going to have to burn them once they’re empty, it’s a health hazard.”

“You know I’m fastidious about spills, they’re fine. And what can I say? I find organized kitchenware to be very alluring,” Ludwig murmured, lifting himself up just a bit to press a soft kiss to the corner of Gilbert’s mouth.

“I tried explaining your fetish to my therapist but they laughed me out of their office,” Gilbert muttered, fumbling with Ludwig’s jeans.

Ludwig paused, his fingers buried in the wiry hairs just underneath the waistband of Gilbert’s boxers.

“...This is the part where I’m going to feel stupid and awful for asking if you actually do have a therapist or if this is just another elaborate mockery.”

“Elaborate mockery,” Gilbert said immediately, rolling his hips against Ludwig’s to keep his boyfriend focused. “The most elaborate. I might go out and get a judgmental therapist tomorrow just to keep up the r-RUSe…”

The last word dissolved into a groan as Ludwig’s hand wrapped firmly around him, his large thumb stroking him absently.

“Dedicated,” Ludwig noted, kicking a box out of the way. He immediately let out a string of curses, clamping a hand over his eyes as he squeezed them shut.

Gilbert laughed hoarsely, prodding at Ludwig’s arm.

“Aha – hit… hit the box of books, did we?”

“Gilbert my hand is wrapped around a very delicate part of your anatomy. I would recommend against testing my patience right now.”

Gilbert bit back another laugh that dissolved into a heady moan almost immediately. He pressed his forehead to Ludwig’s shoulder, his breath hot against his boyfriend’s skin.

“Y-You know… me,” he mumbled, licking his lips with a kind of neurotic compulsion. “Wouldn’t be a round of awkward sex without Gilbert interjecting random c-comments…”

“It’s why you’d make a wonderful porn star. Providing you stuck to comedic sub-genres,” Ludwig murmured, lifting his hips just a bit to press them against Gilbert’s. Gilbert just shook his head in silent rebuttal, biting his lip to keep from making any more sounds that would give Ludwig additional teasing fodder.

Ludwig laughed, quiet and low in his ear as his hand wrapped around them both, lightly stroking.

“Lift your hips a bit,” he murmured, nuzzling Gilbert’s neck. “I can’t really do much with you crushing my wrist.”

“That’s sort of the idea – I’m trying to save my dignity here,” Gilbert panted, his hips bucking just a bit as he lost some of his iron control. “My bare ass is to our living room window –”

“I have very rich, prissy neighbors who will faint before they can think to take a picture or enjoy the view,” Ludwig assured him, pressing another kiss to his neck. “Which is why I live here. You’ve noticed the suspicious lack of complaints about your enthusiastic yelling.”

“M-My enthusiastic yells are – they sound like music,” Gilbert mumbled, half-delirious as heat started to pool heavily in his gut. “P-Probably can’t tell the difference between me orgasming and Brahms.”

“Y-Yes… clearly,” Ludwig panted, squeezing his eyes shut. “As someone whose ear is v-very… very well trained in your – fuck I can’t keep this up. You’re sexy, end b-banter.”

Gilbert laughed weakly and drew a little tally mark against Ludwig’s chest, biting back a quiet curse a moment later. He squeezed his eyes shut, Ludwig’s hand tensing around him as he came with a soft grunt. Gilbert shuddered at the sudden burst of warmth, choking back a quiet moan. Didn’t need to give the neighbors anything else to gossip about. 

One of them – the later bruise would point to the culprit – kicked over several boxes, and they both winced at the shattering sound that followed. Ludwig slowly uncurled his fingers, letting Gilbert lie flush against him.

“Shit, I think – I think… that was your Star Wars cup collection,” Ludwig mumbled, wrapping his arms around Gilbert’s waist. “Can I buy you new ones?”

“They’re collector’s editions – really expensive so you’d better,” Gilbert muttered, headbutting Ludwig’s sternum. Ludwig let out a pathetic wheeze and pinched his hip.

“How expensive is expensive?”

“Let’s just say you’ll probably end up murdering half a dozen nerds to get your hands on the complete set.”

“I’ve murdered geeks before. Nerds, geeks… I imagine the moral weight isn’t that different.”

“Slightly less, actually. Nerds are usually slimier.”

Ludwig chuckled lightly, his hand moving to card through Gilbert’s hair. Gilbert just grunted to show his appreciation, pillowing his cheek on Ludwig’s chest.

“That better not be your disgusting jizz hand.”

“It is not my disgusting jizz hand. It is my Adonis clean hand.”

“Good.”

They lay there in silence for a few minutes, the cold breeze making the hair on the back of Gilbert’s neck stick up straight. He could smell the cookies Ludwig had shoved in the oven. Their ‘reward’ for unpacking. That had turned into Gilbert trying to blackmail Ludwig into letting him eat raw cookie dough. Which had turned into a series of escalating dares.

And then suddenly Ludwig’s pants were off and both unpacking and cookies had been forgotten.

Gilbert butted his head against Ludwig’s collarbone to get his attention. His boyfriend let out a puff of air in response. Like a beached seal.

“What.”

“Do I still get cookies.”

Ludwig fell silent for a long moment before he mumbled, “I’m saying yes just because I want them too. Even though neither of us deserves anything resembling a reward.”

“Hey, we’ll unpack.” Gilbert unstuck himself from Ludwig’s chest and glanced over his shoulder at the fortress of boxes.

“...Eventually.”

Ludwig let out a breathy laugh and sat up, tucking himself back into his pants. The sound of the zipper made Gilbert start, and he quickly straightened himself out as well, his cheeks red.

“Although that was a mild waste of time if I’m forcing myself to confront my delinquency head-on,” he muttered, picking his way through the boxes to the window to slam it shut. “We could have unpacked my dish towels and instead we spent a passionate seven minutes rolling around on the floor like a couple of idiots who can only express love physically.”

“I hear people really hit their ‘sex whenever’ stride in their thirties. Must be the sense of impending death,” Ludwig said thoughtfully, wiping his hand on his shirt before standing. He made a little whoa noise and had to brace himself against the wall. 

“Jelly legs,” he explained when Gilbert laughed. “Jelly legs–I can’t help it! You’re very writhey when you’re all worked up. I expend a great deal of energy trying to keep you under control! Like wrestling with a moray eel…”

“Which is why you’re going to go shove a dozen cookies down your gullet and cite that bozo statistic about how many calories sex burns, right?” Gilbert teased, righting the box Ludwig had kicked over. Not his Star Wars cup collection, thank God. Just some nice plates he’d bought at a flea market. Some old woman’s china. Then his. Now the dumpster’s.

“You’ve got nice china, right? Or should I kick your ass for ruining my set?”

“It’s semi-nice, so maybe just a gentle pummeling,” Ludwig said, heading into the kitchen. “Bring a box in here; I need to feel at least somewhat productive.”

“Semi-nice… when the Prime Minister of some tiny-ass country comes to visit we’re going to be mortified that he’s eating off of only semi-nice china,” Gilbert said with a heavy sigh, half-heartedly kicking a box of towels into the kitchen. 

“Or she, no need to be sexist,” Ludwig called out, his head halfway in the oven as he retrieved the pans of cookies.

“I don’t think some tiny-ass country is that progressive, unfortunately,” Gilbert said, moving over to Ludwig and tugging on his shirt. “Please take this off, you’ve got trace evidence all over it.”

Ludwig glanced down at himself and then quirked a brow at Gilbert.

“Slightly more than trace,” he said, his lips curling up in a little smirk. “I don’t mean to be gross, but I’ve noticed you’re a very generous donor.”

“Gross,” Gilbert said immediately, gagging. “Gross – I’ve told you that after the dim fog of lusty pleasure has dissipated I really don’t want to talk about fluids. Yours or mine.”

“It’s kind of sexy.”

“Stop.”

“I wasn’t kidding about that potential porn star gig –”

“Ludwig, if you want to video tape us having sex that badly then get your ass on Amazon and fucking buy the camera already.”

“I’m waiting for a good deal.”

“…Are you s—”

“High resolution. Maximum zoom. Wide angle lens so it can fit everything in—”

“You’re disgusting.”

Ludwig furrowed his brow and picked up a cookie, cursing as he tossed it from hand to hand. He stared mournfully down at Gilbert, the twitch of his mouth hinting towards a smile he was barely winning a struggle against.

“How can you say that – fuck, hot – about a man who smells like a tray of freshly baked cookies?”

Gilbert rolled his eyes and snatched the cookie out of mid-air. He took a bite, hiding his wince as molten chocolate pooled onto his tongue. He wouldn’t give Ludwig the satisfaction.

“You smell like dried semen and chagrin,” he deadpanned, awarding himself a point when Ludwig laughed and held up his hands in surrender. Worth the murdered taste buds.

“Fine! Fine, I’ll get changed,” Ludwig said in affected exasperation. He shrugged off his shirt as he headed to the washing machines stuffed in the hall closet. “Look, I’ll even wash this right away to appease you, how’s that sound?”

“Barely passable,” Gilbert called out, eyeing the cookies warily before grabbing another one. He couldn’t really taste anything other than searing tongue pain but hey, his mouth was already burned. The extra calories would go towards healing his charbroiled skin. 

He chewed on the white-hot cookie, mulling things over for a moment as he glanced around Ludwig’s spacious kitchen. Their trip to the halfway home kept getting pushed back further and further. Nothing was getting unpacked, and they very well couldn’t go if Gilbert weren’t fully settled in, comfortable. Still had to put together the bookshelves. Still had to carve out a place for him in the study. Tear down the fort they’d built out of his giant medical references. Quit insisting on digging through the boxes until he found his old Metallica T-shirt from high school or his one aborted attempted at being a comic book artist. If Gilbert were honest with himself he’d admit that he was stalling, but he wanted a piece of comfort before he went dredging around in the backwaters of his life. A pet or something. A comfortable, trial-run family scenario outside of the labyrinth of life-stuffed cardboard cubes in the den. That was what couples did, right? Invested in the well being of some non-human species together. Used a humorous combination of last names to address the animal at vet visits or during friend introductions. Spent too much on toys together, took it on walks. Invested energy and emotion into it.

Pseudo-family stuff. To make up for the crippling fear of confronting his own, far-too-unpseudo family. In absentee.

The moment Ludwig returned Gilbert licked his lips clean of chocolate and said firmly, “We should get a dog.”

Ludwig paused in the doorway, his fingers still on the second button of his polo.

“…You don’t want to start with a goldfish first?” he asked finally, stepping into the kitchen and starting to put the cookies into their little storage bins, his expression a carefully crafted neutral. “Something with a shorter shelf life than twelve to fifteen years?”

Gilbert raised an eyebrow, bracing himself against the kitchen island with his elbows.

“I didn’t think I needed to worry about expiration dates,” he said bluntly, snorting when Ludwig winced and immediately struggled to save himself.

“You don’t – ideally you don’t, god I hope you don’t but a dog is… it’s a commitment. I travel so much, I wouldn’t want to—”

“As you’ve astutely pointed out, my vacation days can be counted on the joints of one finger,” Gilbert said, stealing another cookie and managing to dodge Ludwig’s swipe at him. “I could take care of it.”

Ludwig turned to put the baking pans in the sink, but Gilbert caught a hint of a frown on the other man’s face. He felt his stomach sink a bit, and he thought with a detached sort of wonder how fucking fascinating it was that the human mind could latch so ferociously onto an idea it had spawned only moments before.

He ran his finger along the edge of the decorative plate. It had scalloped edges marked with little dots of red glaze that shone like ruby against the white porcelain. Semi-nice. Used as a cookie plate. Not to serve the Prime Minister of some tiny-ass country.

“You know you can flat out refuse instead of hedging for five minutes,” he finally said, when Ludwig’s only contribution to the conversation was the sound of running water and the scrape of crinkled plastic sponge against the metal baking sheets.

“I’m not hedging.”

Ludwig placed a sheet in the dry rack and started on the next.

“I’m avoiding.”

Gilbert noted the lack of contrition in Ludwig’s posture. He sullenly took another cookie.

“At least you’re honest.”

Another sheet went to the rack.

“Since when do you want a dog? You told me you don’t have an affinity for animals.”

“True. They can smell the vivisections past inherent in my profession. Although since I’m allergic to cats they seem to like to rub themselves all over me because they’re contrary, mind-reading fucks.”

“So a cat’s a no, then.”

“Cat no.”

“But dog yes.”

“Dog please. Dog tentative question mark.”

Ludwig fell silent again as he dried his hands on the kitchen towel. When he turned around his eyes were guarded as they surveyed Gilbert. He remained quiet for nearly ten, awkwardly strung out seconds before he finally spoke.

“This is an extreme commitment, you know.”

Gilbert could hear the resignation in Ludwig’s tone. He sunk his response talons into it.

“So that’s a yes?” he said hopefully, taking a little step forward.

“That’s a tentative yes,” Ludwig cautioned, his blue eyes narrowing. “I think it’s – Gilbert stop dancing.”

“I wasn’t dancing I was jiggling.”

“You don’t have enough body fat to jiggle.”

“Okay rude.”

“Stop jiggling.”

“You said yes!”

“It’s a tentative – you don’t listen properly.”

Gilbert laughed and bounded across the kitchen to stare up into Ludwig’s face. His eyes were averted and there was a very slight flush coloring his cheekbones. His jaw was set.

Gilbert grinned.

“What kind?”

“German shep—I don’t know.”

Gilbert laughed again, kissing Ludwig’s cheek before quickly pulling away, complaining, “Fuck, that nearly burned me. You should be careful with your surface blood supply. Could seriously injure a man.”

“Your lips have come into contact with worse. They’ll survive,” Ludwig grumbled.

“That’s not a nice way to talk about your dick,” Gilbert said, fighting back a laugh when Ludwig tore a cookie in half with all the vicious energy of an ousted and shamed loser. He crammed the cookie in his mouth – most likely to avoid being further committed to the conversation and just grunted in reply. Gilbert took pity on him and was about to pat his shoulder when his phone rang. He glanced at the screen, his stomach flipping unpleasantly when he saw who it was.

He lifted his gaze to meet Ludwig’s, feeling hunted already.

Ludwig raised an eyebrow and licked his lips free of chocolate.

“That eager to answer her?”

“It’s going to be about Roderich again,” Gilbert muttered, staring dully at Elizaveta’s picture just above the cute animation of a ringing phone. She was smiling in it. Her normal cheerful smile. Just a hint of slyness around her eyes. “It’s always Roderich and she never fucking does anything. That bottle of wine is still sitting right fucking there. It’s never getting drunk.”

“Go easy on her.”

Ludwig’s soft voice made Gilbert raise his head again. He side-eyed Ludwig.

“You say that every time.”

“And yet you keep insisting on playing hardball with your brokenhearted friend. I say again, go easy on her.”

Ludwig kissed the top of his head and then headed off into the study. Probably to pretend to open more boxes. Ludwig was always so careful to give him privacy.

Gilbert watched his boyfriend go; he wanted to tell him to please stay he needed someone to keep him from punching Eliza through the phone. But he knew he’d hate himself if he let Ludwig hear Eliza cry. Even if it was only muffled sobs leaking out of a speaker.

His thumb landed heavily on the green answer button. He pressed the phone to his ear.

“Hey, ’Liza.”

Gilbert steeled himself for the usual explosion of sound and fury. Instead he heard a raspy breath.

“I did it.”

Gilbert waited for more information, but all he could hear was Eliza sniffling. He didn’t really dare to hope yet.

“…You… killed him.”

“…Yeah.”

“…Eliza—”

“No, idiot. We broke up. God…”

He could hear her scrubbing her face.

“It was ugly.”

Gilbert sat down on one of the stools around the kitchen island, picking at the plate of cookies. He eyed the bottle on the counter. Wine didn’t go great with chocolate chips. He’d probably survive.

“Well. Shit,” he said sympathetically, and he meant it. Eliza sounded distant. A sad zoo animal on the other side of glass. Far away from home and sitting on top of the carcass of its mate. 

“Yeah. Shit.”

Eliza had time to draw in another rattling breath before Gilbert thought to ask.

“Where are you?”

“Bar.”

“Don’t be in a bar.”

“If I could move the building without getting up off my fucking stool I would, but since superpowers continue to elude me this week I’m gonna have to say I’m in a fucking bar. For the foreseeable future.”

Gilbert ran a hand down his face, trying to remember that he was supposed to feel sad and worried. Not vaguely annoyed and smug. Eliza didn’t handle breakups well. She cried and screamed and drank enough whiskey and scotch to fell a herd of pygmy elephants.

Except for their breakup. When he was sobbing in the bathroom while she flirted with the bartender.

But this didn’t sound like either scenario. Not the distillery tour, not the Norwegian death metal screams. Not the soft eyes across a dingy counter.

This was silence. Absence.

It made him sick with a sudden deluge of empathy.

“Oh, Eliza,” he said quietly, the words tumbling out of his mouth like the broken things they were. What else could he say; what else was there to say but a whimpered syllable and the pitiful repetition of a name. Like comforting a dog – he didn’t know how to help humans that weren’t small children, terrified and crying of needles.

“That’s me. The shortened me. Short like my fucking vertical reach. I hate that he’s taller. I hate the short.”

“Elizaveta, then.”

“Fuck. No. He called me that in our fights.”

“Elizaveta?”

“Said he hated that you were the only one who called me by the shortened one.”

“Which isn’t true.”

“Which isn’t tr – that nurse calls me it.”

“Bel.”

“…Her.”

Gilbert ran his thumb over a smear of chocolate on his skin; it hedgehoged into little spiky balls that fell to the granite countertop. They blended in with the brown flecks lodged in the stone.

“Is anyone there with you?”

Eliza hummed as she thought, and Gilbert heard the tonk-tonk noise of a tumbler against wood.

He sighed.

“Strangers don’t count, Eliza.”

“Should’ve said that before I did my contemplative humming. No, Doctor, I’m alone. Don’t come get me.”

“Considering you’ve given me zero clues to your whereabouts other than the word ‘bar,’ I’d say you’re safe from my overbearing presence until you dictate otherwise,” Gilbert muttered, pushing himself to his feet so he could neurotically circle the island over and over, his fingers brushing against the wine bottle with every lap.

The line went silent for a while, ice clinking in his ear.

“Are you pissed at Roderich or at me?”

“Depends how the breakup went down, exactly, I guess,” Gilbert muttered. “I want to say I’m pissed at neither of you but we know I have a personality that’s inclined to vault towards that particular mode of expression so I’ll spare us the lies.”

“Be pissed at me. You’ve got a review coming up. Don’t need to annoy the director.”

“As much as I love you throwing yourself on the verbal sword for your ex can you just tell me what happened so I can decide for myself?”

“He called me classless.”

Gilbert let the friction between his fingers and the granite counter drag him to a stop.

“Classless.”

“We were at a party last night – really fancy, I wore that… that red dress, with – it clashes with my eyes but it has that nice… the frill along the asymmetrical straps. Things. You know the one.”

“I’m not as intimately familiar with your wardrobe as I once was.”

“It’s the one I wore to my cousin’s wedding. I know you remember that.”

The wedding where Gilbert spent every conversation deflecting questions about marriage. The dress had left a milder impression on him than Eliza’s relatives had.

“Yeah. Vague memories.”

“Well I wore that or – or I tried to, and he asked if I had anything more appropriate. I said what’s wrong with it, it’s a ball gown, we’re going to a fucking ball. He said it’s not a fucking ball, it’s a charity auction, I said when the formality level dictates I have to wear a fucking ball gown, it’s a fucking ball. His face turned red and he snapped that I was being crass and classless and he started to say the word ‘embarrassment’ I could see his cocktail wiener lips forming it but then he turned and left. Or would have but I didn’t let him go, I yelled and said I’d rather be classless than an automaton and it spiraled and made the auction a complete nightmare. I bid on a duck made of crystals and won. It’s hideous. I have bidder’s remorse.”

“Why’d you buy a duck made of crystals.”

“It was expensive and. There was bottomless champagne at the party.”

“Reasonable.”

“And he hurt me. And I wanted to hurt him.”

“So the duck is your future murder weapon. Are you creating your own Clue scenario? Crystal duck in the pre-op room, that sort of thing?”

“And then when we got home, I said – he hadn’t looked at me the entire party. I told him he was treating me like I was one of the people walking around with trays of canapés and he said something snide about how I wasn’t up to server dress code and I lost it and then he lost it and we ended. I broke his silverware drawer. The metal guide rail inside got bent and spoons went everywhere and he said I had a week he’s moving anyway I have a week to move. So I brought the duck with me to the bar. It’s here. People keep staring at it but I don’t fucking care.”

Gilbert could hear her voice trembling. A fluorescent light about to give out, high pitched and flickering. She was crying; he didn’t know what to do.

He glanced towards the study, listening to the heavy thud of boxes as Ludwig shuffled them about, pretending to be useful in that obsessive, focused way he had; always moving, hands or brain or eyes, something working, always. Gilbert thought about the bar, whichever one it was that housed Eliza, and what she was listening to. There was no music drifting through the tinny speakers in his phone; it was two o’clock in the afternoon on a Saturday, the only thing Eliza was listening to, most likely, was him.

And he was so very terrible at this.

“…Please let me come get you, Eliza,” he said quietly, not liking the silence, the two o’clock in the afternoonness. “Or at least tell me where you are so I can send someone to keep you company. Just in case I’m not really—”

“I’m at Barlow’s.”

Gilbert had his hands on his keys before Eliza’s voice stopped him.

“I called the nurse. She’ll be here.”

“The nurse – Bel?” he said in surprise, his chest constricting. “Why—”

“Don’t act all hurt, you told me to,” Eliza said, accusing and tired. “You astutely pointed out I have no friends—”

“I didn’t—”

“And you told me to start talking to her, so I did. We’ve been texting – she’s a really bad speller, why didn’t you warn me—”

“So you’ve been—”

“Yeah, orthography, not a strong point for that one—”

“Eliza!”

She fell silent.

Gilbert stared at the keys in his hand, their teeth nipping at his skin.

“So you don’t need me to come get you. Just to confirm before you tangent again.”

“…Sine cosine—”

“Eliza.”

“No, no. Don’t—you’ve seen me cry too much, time to traumatize a new person.”

“I’m not traumatized,” Gilbert said, setting his keys back down in their little tray. It had blue ink flowers on it that looked like little skulls. His friend had painted it. When had Ludwig put it there?

“Oooh you little liar, I know guys are all traumatized by crippling emotional angst. To be fair girls are too – we just get over it faster and move onto yelling in a timelier manner. And anyway, you’ve got that bottle of wine to enjoy. Should do that. Drink it with Ludwig – stuff’s shit so maybe you should just marinate a chicken breast in it or something—”

“Are you really okay?”

“—maybe a steak. Put it in a pan and do that tilt thing to set it on fire. Ludwig seems like the kind of guy who could do that without burning the house down. No, I’m not. I’m wildly unhappy and this fucking duck has sapphires for eyes. Its eyes could pay my student loans and it keeps staring at me.”

“Turn it around. Make it face some other harried resident.”

“Nah. Couldn’t do that to someone else. Besides, I like the attention. Good or bad. Right?”

Gilbert scrubbed at his eyes.

“I’m not validating that statement.”

“Not rushing to invalidate it either. Can’t help but notice.”

Gilbert had to bite his tongue to keep from snapping. Eliza must have picked up on his frustration because she laughed and said in her girlish tone, “This is the part where you say ‘I told you so.’ Or you would if a gorgeous blonde hadn’t just walked through the door.”

“Bel? I hope.”

“Her hair’s so bouncy. The fuck does she get it to do that – my curls puff up like a fucking yield sign, it’s not fair.”

A loud scratching noise followed, and then Bel’s cheerful voice.

“Hey, Doc. I’m gonna go ahead and confiscate this from the good doctor. Worried she’ll make some terrible decisions. Like call the nurse who’s – aha, whoops, okay she’s not that drunk yet she’s looking at me. Guess it’s too early to show my hand. And kind of crass – forget I said anything.”

Her voice became muffled.

“Dr. Liz, just – no, put the duck down – don’t hold it for ransom, I don’t care about it, that’s a flawed strategy. Don’t—don’t smash it either, okay you’re going to cut yourself. Just put – put it down – no not on the stool it’s going to fall. The bartop – yes. Good. Uh, gin and tonic I guess although it’s a little early – fine, gin and tonic it is.”

There came another rustling noise.

“Whew, sorry about that, Doc. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure she gets home, all that good stuff.”

Gilbert ran his thumb over the volume button on his phone, his skin crawling with an anxious, frenzied energy. Panic attack. This was the beginning of a panic attack, why was he having one?

“She never remembers to drink enough water,” he mumbled. “So I usually lie – I tell her it’s got vodka in it and that she’s just too drunk to taste it. That powdered flavor stuff – sometimes I use it to trick her, I put it in a glass of water—”

“Got it, Doc. Okay I gotta run,” Bel said hurriedly. “She’s trying to make out with a napkin dispenser –shit, okay talk to you later.”

The line went dead.

Gilbert felt himself do that dumb sitcom thing. The thing where some sad person stares at a phone and watches the numbers blink. To show surprise, maybe. Revelation, revulsion. Squeeze empathy out of the laugh-track studio audience.

Duration of the call, eight minutes, fifty seven seconds.

He pressed the button and killed the screen.

In a few steps he was out the back door, the small enclosed patio just off the kitchen. It was all cobblestone, no green anywhere except for the meticulously tended potted plants, the downside of living in the heart of the city where all there was in the ground was gas lines and sewage and probably a thousand rat warrens; or there would be if rats made warrens, but they didn’t, what did they make, did rats have homes?

He rubbed his hand over his throat, feeling his Adam’s apple bob under his palm as he struggled to swallow. He was supposed to try and wrest his mind out of the downward spiral but for whatever reason he instead indulged it, fed the panic and anxiety scraps of realization. Bel knew what the fucking duck looked like and he didn’t, he wasn’t needed, his ex-girlfriend, ex-best friend, the person closest to him other than Ludwig had called the nurse instead. 

And he cared. Fuck did he care – it was so heavy it was crushing him.

He thought of the keys to Ludwig’s car lying in the blue and white plate painted by his friend; how long had it been since he’d called them; what was their name, which person had it been who had dabbled the little flowers onto the white, made them look like skulls because they’d thought it was funny, nothing deep, nothing pretentious just a few extra brush strokes and suddenly there were eye sockets peering out of the forget-me-nots.

Was friendship really so fragile a thing.

Affection.

Gilbert opened his eyes and saw that he was sitting down atop one of the cobblestones. It had rained; his jeans were soaking up the mud and the wet. The moss was green growing in between the cracks in the stone. It looked so soft he felt compelled to touch it, fixating on the small detail as the rest of everything in his head gave up the ghost and began shutting down until all that was left was the petulant husk of caring.

He sat there for five minutes of a long time, listening to the drips of water from the trees, documenting the fear scribbling itself all over his skin. Objective. Detached.

His fingers brushed over the moss. They were shaking.

It wasn’t good to feel so much and not be able to process it. To feel emotions without names. What was the point of emotions at all if you couldn’t formulate a common word to convey to someone else that your head and heart were competing to see who could make you puke first. What was the name of that emotion. 

Sad. Maybe.

Something warm and gentle settled against his shoulders. The blanket’s thick strands knit loosely together. It smelled like bergamot, the candle Ludwig had in the living room.

Ludwig’s shoes found purchase on the slimy cobblestones.

“Do you want me here?”

His voice was soft.

Gilbert reached up and wordlessly tugged on Ludwig’s sleeve, pulling him down to sit beside him. Ludwig obeyed the gentle wrench, grunting quietly as he settled himself down in the mossy sludge clinging to the rocks.

“Getting old,” he muttered, letting Gilbert adjust his arm until it was wrapped around his shoulders over the blanket. “Knees hurt when I sit down like this.”

“Thirty isn’t old,” Gilbert said confidently, turning to press his face into the crook of Ludwig’s arm. “Plus you’re immortal anyway, remember. You swore a blood oath; it was all very Game of Thrones.” The metallic bite of deodorant hit his nostrils; his detergent, the kind marketed as ‘fresh rain.’ It didn’t smell anything like the oil and bacteria in petrichor. Probably harder to market.

“Curiously enough I don’t remember swearing any kind of immortality oath, but considering my boyfriend is a genius doctor I’m sure eternal life’s not far off,” Ludwig said, his fingers carding through the hair at Gilbert’s temple.

“We’ll first have to Benjamin Button you first considering my chosen field.”

“Goes without saying.”

Gilbert let the banter wheel roll past him. He wasn’t in a state to catch it. Instead he focused on the feel of Ludwig’s fingers against his temple. The pressure against the soft spot in his skull. An ice pick there could kill him. Freaky how easy it was to murder people. Anyone had the capacity. The number of murders compared to the number of times people got angry said a lot for morality. Or fear. 

Consequence. That was probably it. No one wanted to deal with the fallout.

Ludwig’s fingers stilled in his hair.

“Do you want me to ask why you’re out here?”

Gilbert nodded.

He felt Ludwig sigh. It wasn’t an angry sigh, or exacerbated. Biological only.

“Why are you out here, Gilbert?”

“Eliza and Roderich broke up,” Gilbert said, swallowing the rancor in his voice.

He could feel Ludwig’s confusion.

“…Okay. If you don’t mind my asking, why aren’t we celebrating? Or at least being steadfastly neutral about—”

“Eliza would always call me after she broke up with someone,” Gilbert said, wondering if this was how he could convey the emotion. Explanation of circumstances. “She’d always call. Usually to come drink with her. Or rescue her from drinking. But you’ll notice I’m not at a bar. I am, in fact, sitting in a puddle of stagnant rainwater. Bel’s with her. Sitting on a barstool, probably. They’ve been talking and I’ve been usurped as official break-up shelter and I shouldn’t feel shitty about it but I do. I feel so shitty, apparently, I’ve decided to park my skinny, pasty ass underneath the Japanese maple tree crowding your pathetic excuse for a backyard to get dripped on and cry about how I don’t have a best friend anymore.”

Ludwig’s hand moved to wrap gently around his bicep, his large fingers stuttering over the rough weave of Gilbert’s sweater. 

“You’re not blaming her for that, are you?” he asked cautiously. “You haven’t kept your feelings about Roderich a secret – and…”

Ludwig fell quiet. Gilbert lifted his head, rolling his shoulder to encourage Ludwig to keep stroking his arm.

“And what?”

Ludwig pressed his thin lips together and shook his head.

“It’s petty.”

“I just had a panic attack because I don’t know what a duck looks like.”

“…I… I think there’s some episodes of Sesame Street that can help you out with that –”

“What’s petty, Ludwig.”

“It’s shallow and horrible.”

“Ludwig.”

Ludwig averted his eyes. His hand tightened on Gilbert’s arm.

“…I thought I was your best friend,” he said quietly. “Which I now realize makes me sound incredibly self-absorbed and selfish, considering you’ve known Elizaveta since you were seventeen and you’ve known me for seven months.”

“Eight and a half,” Gilbert corrected, moving his jaw against Ludwig’s shoulder. Felt weird. 

“Eight and a half.”

Ludwig let out a slow breath and pressed his nose into Gilbert’s hair.

“Am I the worst boyfriend or the semi-worst?”

“Absolute worst,” Gilbert confirmed, his chest tightening. “How dare you want to be my best friend.”

“Jealousy is never a pretty thing. You don’t need to pretend that it’s not troubling behavior.”

“It is,” Gilbert said, closing his eyes. “And if I weren’t getting your favorite afghan covered in maple water and moss I’d take the time to feel a little irked by it. But right now I’m cold and sad and worried and it’s nice to feel—”

“Wanted.”

Gilbert lifted his head, catching Ludwig’s gaze. His boyfriend was looking sheepish – brows knitted and a half smile on his face that didn’t meet his eyes.

“That’s the one,” Gilbert said quietly. He struggled a bit to get the blanket around Ludwig’s shoulders as well. They were too broad – the blanket barely reached the other side of Ludwig’s neck, but Ludwig’s cheeks were flushed and when he spoke his voice was a bit deeper than normal.

“And I hope you know.”

Gilbert let his head thunk against Ludwig’s shoulder, a raindrop catching him on the lip.

“Know what.”

Gilbert closed his eyes as Ludwig’s cheek rested against his hair.

“That you are.”

Gilbert didn’t answer. He felt Ludwig’s chest rise and fall against his arm, counting each rib as it pressed against his skin. Another raindrop landed on his nose. He brushed it away with the blanket and kept it pressed against his face. Would it be worth it to voice his fears. Was it something that had to be said, that Ludwig needed to hear. Or was it merely something he wanted to make Ludwig listen to just to have reassurance. An outside source to put a crucifying nail in the idea that someday he would get a call from Ludwig at a bar. His keys would stay in their tray.

His lungs began to seize again. His fingers tightened against Ludwig’s arm.

“I love you,” he said desperately. “Please – please always come let me get you at a bar. Even if—”

“You’ll be the first I call,” Ludwig said softly, pressing his nose against Gilbert’s forehead. “No matter what.”

Gilbert nodded, forcing saliva down his throat.

“And you—”

“Very much I love you.”

Gilbert could feel Ludwig’s smile against his skull.

“I wouldn’t jeopardize the integrity of my favorite blanket for just anyone.”

Gilbert nodded, once, and tugged the wool tighter around his shoulders. 

Ludwig let them stay outside until it grew dark and frigid before hauling Gilbert inside and plunking him down on the couch. He brought out his computer, the website a shelter adoption one. The liquid in the cup hot chocolate, pizza in a car being driven by a reckless teenager on its way. Gilbert didn’t want to talk, was terrified that every word out of his mouth would be something else unacceptably pathetic now that the panic had left him a shaky, sullen mess. But Ludwig gently coaxed him out of his angry crab shell as he liked to call it, and by the time the pizza had arrived and two cups of hot chocolate had been dutifully sipped they were both talking quietly over the pictures of shelties and corgis and unholy abominable mixes of dog breeds that still had big, wet eyes that begged for attention.

They fell asleep on the couch, Gilbert’s hands fisted in Ludwig’s shirt. The computer bled its energy into the bright, unseen screen before growing black, plunging the room into early spring’s dark.

The next morning Gilbert woke up disoriented. His mouth felt like a science project.

He managed to pry himself out of Ludwig’s grip and convinced the other man to take a bath with him at the decidedly unalluring hour of four in the morning. When Ludwig flopped into bed, teeth smelling like mint and skin smelling like the weird sandalwood shampoo his mother had forced on them when they’d left, Gilbert was out the door, his feet shuffling along the slightly icy sidewalk.

The train was on time, for once, and the hospital was wonderfully quiet upon his arrival. Half his patients had been discharged. A good sort of lonely as he made his rounds and checked the schedule. Surgeries today numbered five. Quite a few considering he was pulling ER duty for the second half of his twenty-eight hours shift, but his review was coming up. Toni in scheduling probably wanted to make sure his dossier was chock full of successes to make up for the few deaths. Never pleasant to talk about those during a review. Resident directors tended to frown when child mortuary statistics were brought up. Funnily enough.

Gilbert scanned the list, relieved when he was reminded that most of the surgeries for that day were indeed basic. Appendectomy. Tonsillectomy. Lots of tugging out antediluvian body parts. Things he could do in his sleep. Or lack thereof.

The last surgery though gave him pause. Mitral valve replacement. Not something he typically worked on. Somehow he’d pushed it out of his mind. The last meeting about it had been three days ago. Patient had run a low grade fever, surgery had to be postponed. Gilbert had been preoccupied; worried about the move, the visit. He was only the tertiary doctor. First was von Bock, resident cardiologist. Secondary, Héderváry.

His finger froze on the name. 

Ah, fuck.

Three days ago Eliza had worn her usual clinic face in the meeting. Indifferent to the point where the entire nursing staff had wondered aloud if their gossip about the director and doctor’s rough patch in their relationship was really just gossip after all.

But that was three days ago. And Eliza had just spent the night in a bar after ripping apart the lone stable connection in her life. Lost her residence and boyfriend in one go. Again.

Didn’t exactly spell surgeon of the year.

Gilbert checked the time before heading up to talk to Toni. Maybe he could be made secondary, but Eliza and von Bock had a better track record together than he did. Von Bock didn’t like him all that much. Maybe it was because the moment Gilbert had heard his name for the first time he’d proceeded to laugh and say his name at an increasingly louder volume. Chicken noises had also been bandied about. It wasn’t his greatest hour.

Toni was, as usual, all smiles and vague threats about what he’d do if any doctor questioned his scheduling. As a nurse he had great bedside manner. The kids all loved him; he was the guy you went to when you had to give a problem kid a shot. He could make them laugh, had them eating out of his hand. He was the one slightly older patients got flushed and flustered around. Dark skin and soft, brown hair, bright green eyes. Infectious smile. They wrote him cards and offered him bites of their Jell-o at lunch.

As an administrator he was fucking terrifying.

“I can say it in whatever other languages you speak, Doc, but rules are rules,” Toni said, wrinkling his pert, button nose. Gilbert wanted to smash it. “You’re still a resident. You can’t make a judgment call about another resident’s ability to perform a surgery. And I just saw Doctor Héderváry – she gave me chocolate! The good kind, it’s got hazelnuts –not important, I know, but she seemed fine! And she’s only the secondary. Von Bock’s in control. You can double check with him during the briefing but he’s seasoned. He knows what he’s doing and how to manage his secondaries.”

Unlike you was very heavily implied.

“How long ago did you see her?” Gilbert demanded. “Are we talking minutes or hours –”

“Minutes,” Toni said slowly. “Her shift only started a half hour ago.” He sat back in his chair and waved his hand. “You need to go take your first break, Doctor. Your eye’s all twitchy. The sofa in the lounge on the third floor is open.”

“…How can you possibly know that.”

“I don’t, but this way if you get up there and it is open you’ll think I’m psychic, right?” Toni said, giving Gilbert a cheeky grin. “Or at least that I give stellar advice. Which I do!”

Gilbert stared coolly back at the nurse before turning on his heel, muttering, “Sunshiney jackass,” under his breath. He started to head towards the fifth floor lounge before remembering that it was right next to Roderich’s office. Unlikely Eliza would be there. Or that he’d be able to take his twenty-five minute nap break in peace. He reluctantly made his way to the third floor and threw himself dramatically down on one of the sofas, his lab coat tugged up over his eyes. He drifted off, his body knowing it needed to take whatever sleep scraps it was offered.

Which was why he was so incredibly pissed off when he was roughly shaken awake. He pushed aside his lab coat and stared up at Bel. The nurse grinned back.

“Hey, Doc.”

“…Are you all you nurses part of some cult or something?” he asked sourly, pushing himself up.

“Coven, actually,” Bel said, plunking down in one of the chairs across from the sofa. “Monthly dues are awful. Also I now know what kind of hand soap is in Doctor H’s kitchen.”

Gilbert stared at Bel. She was still smiling happily.

“…that may have been the most sociopathic thing you’ve ever—”

“It’s ginger-orange. Way classier than I was expecting.”

“You were expecting things about her hand soap.”

“Yeah, she seems the type to just use dishwashing liquid. Straight out of the bottle with the ‘save the animals from oil spills’ propaganda on it.”

“I’m not sure that classifies as propaganda.”

“Well they’ve gotten me to buy into their narrative. Do you know how much of my money the soap company has now? They could save a thousand fictitious oil ducks. They know there’s suckers like me who can’t resist a sad animal story.”

“…You know there actually are animals that—”

“And I made sure she drank plenty of water,” Bel said, ignoring Gilbert as she always did when she was in love with her own happiness. “She’s only got the one surgery today but I asked her and she said she was fine. It’s with von Bock, right? Doctor Nerd?”

“What was the point of paying off the nurses to never call him that if you’re not going to uphold your end of the bargain?” Gilbert asked wearily, fishing his eye drops out of his pocket and dousing his eyeballs with twice the recommended dosage. Not enough fatty oils in his diet, maybe. Tears weren’t doing their job.

“The point was you doctors are chumps,” Bel said, wincing. “And Doc, I think your pupils are in danger of drowning if you use the whole bottle…”

“Going to fall asleep into the kid’s appendix if I don’t,” Gilbert said with a heavy sigh, tossing the empty container into the waste bin. “Time’s it?”

“Twelve fifteen. Surgery’s in half an hour. I came to get you.” Bel frowned in sympathy. “Three surgeries, ER duty, then the two big ones, huh. Toni must hate you. Or he knows you need a good case.”

“Would you believe the best of both.”

Gilbert stood up, cracking his back.

“Speaking of which, is… uh.” He rubbed his neck, feeling a bit like a clumsy detective. And a shitty friend. It wasn’t a good combination. “Is Eliza really – her review’s the end of this week too. Do you think – I mean, she’s gotta go in front of Roerich as well as the whole board of directors…”

“It was a shitty time to dump him,” Bel agreed, hopping to her feet. “But I think Doctor H knows what she’s doing. She’s got a strong dossier, her patients love her. More impressively their parents love her, too. Which I’ve always thought the pope should be informed of. That’s what you do when a miracle occurs, right?”

“Clearly a sign of impending saint hood,” Gilbert muttered, but Bel’s reassurance did help, grudging though he was to accept it. She’d been with Elizaveta post-breakup. She knew what the duck looked like. Which was looming larger and larger in Gilbert’s mind as a clumsy metaphor for Elizaveta’s mental state. 

He cracked his neck and then held out his hand towards Bel.

“Let’s go yank an unnecessary organ out of some poor kid.”

“Yes, let’s,” Bel said happily, returning the high-five.

She continued to chatter amiably as they got washed up and prepped. The anesthesiologist cracked a few choice puns, three slices, sutures, done. Second kid same as the first. Textbookishly easy.

Gilbert tossed his gloves into the bin, stumbling as Bel ran into him.

“You’re an old pro at these now,” she said solemnly. “Remember just a few months ago when you used to warn us that you might vomit inside the patient?”

“I’m fairly sure I never voiced those fears aloud,” Gilbert drawled, but he gave Bel a little grin as she laughed and hit his arm. 

“Still, you’re like a real doctor now. I’ll make sure to write that in my report for your dossier.” She cleared her throat and then mimed writing on her palm. “Dr. W… is a real doctor now… he only cries every other surgery… and rarely calls his boyfriend for moral support.”

Gilbert’s eyes widened.

“W-Wait, they’re asking the nursing staff to—”

“Unprecedented, right? It’s almost as though we’re indispensable members of this hospital whose opinions should be taken into consideration,” Bel said lightly, turning to speak to the secondary nurse as the next patient was wheeled in. Gilbert took advantage of the silence to review the chart, needing to bleach his brain of the idea of Bel writing a recommendation letter for him. She’d seen him try and club her brother into a coma with a pool cue. Hopefully she’d leave that out. 

He was so absorbed in the routine particulars that a heavy knock hit against the glass near his head made him jump out of his skin. He turned to peer out into the hallway, his stomach twisting when Eliza’s smirking face greeted him. Her eyes were bit red and her hair was a horrible rat’s nest of curls, but she wasn’t wearing her tell-tale ‘I’m hungover and ready for murder times’ expression. A good sign. She held up a cup of coffee and mouthed, “See you in briefing,” before turning to leave.

“Wait, Eliza—”

Gilbert cursed and made to leave the prep room, but Bel quickly reached out and snagged him as he passed.

“Slow down there, sport. Still got a tonsillectomy and ER duty to do,” she droned, rapping his head with her clipboard. “Now go in there and be nice to the poor kid. She’s got local only.”

Gilbert glared at Bel with as much ire as he could muster, but when she didn’t so much as flinch he muttered, “I hate you,” like a petulant child. Bel’s laughter just made him feel worse.

Not quite as badly as he was feeling fifteen minutes later when his patient continued to wail over and over again that it hurt it hurt he was going to slice her throat she’d seen a movie about a devil barber and he was going to make her into pie. Gilbert made a mental note to look into what the hell kids were watching nowadays before he set about painstakingly comforting the seven year old. He ended up promising her that he’d convince her parents to buy her a Nintendo whatever the newest one was if she was brave and stayed still for him.

The second her tonsils were out she proceeded to burst into panicked tears again – and unlike the pregame panic, these actually hit home with Gilbert. He hated making kids cry for real. How scared they were.

Why the fuck he’d gone into pediatrics was still beyond him.

He offered to wheel her back to her room, and the other nurse – new guy whose name he couldn’t quite remember – reluctantly agreed.

It took every ounce of compassion he had left in his tired, tired bones to calm the girl. Her parents were nice – both a bit dumpy, but all smiles and coddling. And when they tried to protest that Cynthia (that was her name…) already had a Nintendo whatsit why did she need a new one, Gilbert was glad he’d already had this argument with Ludwig a few weeks ago when he’d bought one. He knew saving his meticulous market research would come in handy.

Leaving a happy (and smug) Cynthia behind, he took a quick twenty minute power nap in his office before heading down to the ER locker rooms. 

Hour fifteen of his shift. Ludwig would be getting off of work. Late meeting, liked to stay behind when it was quiet to file the last of his paperwork. Drinks with his colleagues to celebrate some bill becoming a law school house rock magic or whatever, then home.

Gilbert checked his phone one last time in the locker room, surprised when there were only five messages for him. Usually Ludwig continued to text him whenever a thought struck him throughout the day. He claimed it was so he wouldn’t forget whatever it was he’d wanted to say. Gilbert suspected Ludwig just had trouble admitting that even he got bored at work.

/I’ve been thinking about the china situation. Note the lower case c, don’t get CNN on me. In the event that we do have company, we should probably get some better-than-semi-nice. Maybe ones with bees? Are bees nice? They’re kind of cute. But probably not everyone would be thrilled to eat off of insects. Discuss./

/Flowers. They’re less obtrusive than bees. But not really my style. Geometric patterns??/

/Also I called the shelter. The dog’s name is Candice which is just fucking ridiculous and we’re changing it immediately but she’s a half-Shepard half-…they think a beagle because she apparently won’t shut up but they don’t really know. All they know is that she’s loud and needy. Which tells me she’ll fit in well in our household. Point for Schmidt./

/Saturday? Go get dog to celebrate what I’m sure will be a successful halfway-home visit? Well go meet dog, I guess. What if she doesn’t like us. That’s ridiculous dogs even love murderers. Surely they’ll love sociopaths too. I’d make a Silence of the Lambs joke but I just expended all my texting energy making the title italics so pop culture joke ball is in your court./

/I don’t know if you’re in the ER yet but remember to eat that granola I shoved in your locker last time I picked you up. You’ll get light headed again. I hope you’re resting well and I can’t wait to see you tomorrow. We can go out for lunch if you’re not too tired. Not Italian this time because as you so astutely pointed out, marinara does indeed resemble blood and I don’t need you trying to resuscitate my linguini again any time soon. You’re amazing. As a human being and as a doctor, just to remind you. I love you. I’ll make up some waffle batter for you tomorrow morning. Don’t burn yourself. Don’t let patients be mean to you either shit gotta go love you/

Gilbert leaned against his locker, the unpleasant, buzzing high he got right before heading into the ER lessening to a light tingle. He got changed into his ER scrubs and then sat down on the bench with his granola, dutifully shoving handfuls of dried oats into his mouth as he typed his reply.

/Bees yes. Bees are awesome and cute and the right balance of manly and pastoral. We can look at patterns tomorrow. Dog is also yes and I agree about the name. Candice sounds like the name someone would give a failing butterscotch company. I’m eating the granola right now my mouth is like the Sahara if the Sahara were coated with a thin layer of half-masticated dried oats. God I hate ER duty so fucking much and then I’ve got two surgeries after it. Last one’s with Eliza – it’s that heart one I was wailing to you about the other day. Von Bock-choy is in charge so hopefully it’ll go smoothly like we’ve been planning but. God I don’t know. I’m worried about having Eliza there at all, but it’s a three doc job. Five if you’re dealing with an adult but. Obviously that’s not the case with us. I love you too, looking forward to waffles and not-Italian. And china dog. Enjoy your beers, don’t forget to record NOVA. Love you./

Gilbert hit send and then shoved his phone in the locker so he wouldn’t be tempted to keep texting Ludwig. He straightened his scrubs and then steeled himself. ER was always unpleasant. Slightly less so on the early-evening shift, but after a few hours he knew it was going to get ugly.

Five hours later, Gilbert was considering marching upstairs to sock Toni in the jaw for even planting the idea of psychics in his head. Because clearly he was one.

He dodged another punch from the screaming child pinned to the floor and bellowed, “Kirkland! Any fucking day now!”

“Don’t curse in front of the patients! They’re young!” the other doctor snapped, quickly prepping the tranq before plunging it into the kid’s arm. 

“No shit they’re young – otherwise it’d be called ‘Adult’s Hospital’,” Gilbert snapped, wincing as the boy’s foot caught him right in the shin. The child let out another horrible screech of rage – his foot tasting shin-blood had worked him up into a bloodlust frenzy. He lunged towards Gilbert again, who managed to keep the kid pinned long enough for the sedative to work. 

Technically the move he’d used was only illegal in wrestling. Totally fine in emergency situations.

With a heavy groan Gilbert sat back, his arms shaking like crazy as he stared at the kid breathing shallowly on the floor.

“Biggest overreaction to a fucking splinter I’ve ever seen,” Gilbert muttered, wincing as Kirkland smacked him in the back of the head.

“No cursing in my ER, Weillschmidt,” Kirkland muttered, crouching down to pick up the child and hoist him onto a gurney. He glanced over towards the kid’s terrified older sister and said bluntly, “We’re admitting your brother for a psych evaluation. Go talk to the nurse up front, give her your contact information. We’ll need to get a hold of your parents.” The girl nodded, tears in her eyes as she darted off towards the counter.

Gilbert shook out his wrists and carefully pushed himself to his feet, his shoes sliding on the slick tile. Blood. Not a lot of it but when he’d gone to extract the – admittedly huge and horribly infected – splinter the kid had freaked. The tweezers had cut a long, shallow gash down the kid’s arm. Before Gilbert could stop the bleeding he was on his back, the kid trying to claw out his jugular.

Gilbert glanced at his watch and nearly wept. Five minutes until his shift was done and he could go take a break before the surgery briefing. Kirkland was giving him his just-ate-a-lemon-and-not-sure-if-I-liked-it patented glare, which was enough to make Gilbert mumble a little apology to the senior doctor and head out a few minutes early.

He ducked into the locker room and took a quick shower before heading back upstairs, his head feeling like it wasn’t attached to his body. Residents tended to become very adept at power napping, but since he was nearing the end of his resident term he was coming to find they’d lost their potency. It took him far too long to slot a few coins into the vending machines. The hole was tiny and the coins were like little finger barbells. A hilarious image that hinted towards his impending sleep-deprivation breakdown. He couldn’t quite remember bending down to pick up the snack bag, but was horribly disappointed in himself to see that he’d selected raisins. One letter away from chips. God dammit.

As he shoved the raisins in his mouth he headed down the hall to the briefing room. It was wonderfully dark inside – midnight tended to look like that – but there was already someone there.

The horrible mess of hair gave it away.

Gilbert slid into his seat, not bothering with the lights. Eliza would try and slit his throat with her smartphone if he did. When he turned his phone back on, she let out a warning hiss and tugged her hair more over her eyes, muttering, “If that’s you, von Bock, I should tell you you’re treading on dangerous ground. If it’s you, Gilbert, then kick yourself in the balls for me.”

“Not a fan of backlit appliances?” Gilbert drawled, tossing the empty raisin bag into the garbage as he opened his messenger client. Two more from Ludwig.

“Not a fan of sudden lights when I’m trying to sleep right before this very important surgery.”

“I’ll be done in a second.”

“You’ll be done now.”

“Ludwig sent—”

“I don’t care if your stupid boyfriend got promoted to king of the fucking universe. Turn off your goddamn phone or go somewhere else.”

Gilbert rolled his eyes and muttered, “What happened to the chipper coffee addict I encountered this afternoon?” but quickly typed a /sounds good/ in reply to whatever Ludwig had said before turning off his phone again.

“She died,” Eliza said bitterly. “An ugly, angry death. She was probably still slightly drunk, actually.”

Gilbert tensed, not sure how to express the panic and disappointment he felt at hearing that before Eliza snorted and quickly snapped, “Jesus fuck I’m kidding. I can feel you vibrating in disapproval from all the way over here. I wouldn’t show up drunk to work at my fucking hospital job.”

Gilbert glared at the mountain of frizzy curls and then hunkered down in his squishy conference chair. “That’s not funny,” he muttered, pillowing his head on the table. 

Eliza snorted, the sound muffled.

“Yeah. It’s really not.”

Gilbert let out a slow breath, exhaustion pressing in on the backs of his eyes now that the adrenaline rush had passed. Forty minutes to nap, then briefing, then surgery, then home. He wasn’t even in charge of doing the follow up procedure on this patient. Didn’t have to see them or his work again. 

He closed his eyes, intent on forcing himself to pass out. Another handy trick he’d picked up in med school.

“So what’s – what’s Bel’s. Deal.”

Gilbert groaned quietly, tugging his lab coat over his head.

“What do you mean,” he muttered, not sure why he was indulging this.

“I mean what’s her deal. Why’s she so – bubbly and also terrifying. Like poisoned soda.”

“That’s a terrible thing to call someone. How would you even know the soda’s poisoned.”

“It’d be green.”

“There’s lots of non-poisonous green soda.”

“Green with – the bubbles would be skulls.”

“I wasn’t aware we were living in an Acme cartoon.”

“Can we move past the shitty metaphor please. You two are close, I just – I wanna know why she’s… y’know.”

“I actually don’t know but right now it almost sounds like you’re surprised that someone was nice to you. Which isn’t something I’d go out of my way to be surprised about.”

“She stayed up with me all night when I cried. She did that thing you do – you had to have told her about it or it would be the weirdest coincidence – she made me microwave popcorn to trick me into drinking water. She ground up aspirin into a thing of shitty store bought frosting. She knew my food weakness. You had to have told—”

“I didn’t.”

Eliza immediately raised her head. Gilbert could feel her glaring at him but he refused to raise his head. He nearly lost a tooth when a second later she lashed out, kicking his chair.

That made him sit up.

“Ow – Eliza what the fuck?!” he snapped, rubbing at his jaw. He would have yelled more – he deserved to yell more, but the dark circles under her sad, exhausted eyes made him bite his tongue.

“She knew.”

Eliza’s voice was trembling.

“She k-knew how. How to be a friend to me. She didn’t let me wallow –she braided my hair, we watched terrible movies together , made d-daiquiris and accidently blended a wooden spoon but drank it anyway – we picked the splinters out as we drank and she– s-she knew and Roderich –”

She pressed her lips together and lay her head down on the table again, her cheek pressing against the spiral rings of her notebook.

Gilbert waited, knowing she wanted him to prompt her but out of weary spite not wanting to indulge her immediately.

After nearly a minute he sighed and rested his head on the table as well, forehead braced against his forearms.

“Roderich what.”

“Didn’t.”

Eliza threw out the word as though it had been burning her tongue.

“He never did catch on. He would have eventually but his… whatever dromedary he was using as a pack animal can hold like. Two straws. We weren’t going to last. He wasn’t willing to invest in a better. Camel. I knew it and – and I’m just. Talking in circles again. I did this last night, too. Bel started throwing Fruit Loops at me every time. Not in a mean way because hey, free Fruit Loops treat to console me but still… pointing it out, I guess. I didn’t think of myself as much of a ruminator before but this is the part where you laugh and say condescendingly ‘oh Eliza my dear how little you know yourself.’”

Gilbert cracked open an eye, staring through the near-transparent swath of white lab coat that obscured his vision. He could still see her trembling. It made her curls bounce. The few that had life left in them.

He was too tired to feel. He knew he should be sad but his lip still hurt from where a kid had accidentally headbutted him, his neurons were delayed on the tracks, the passengers too worn out to even feel restless. But still they all agreed on one thing.

“You didn’t used to be,” he said quietly. “But I think we can all agree that neither of us really know one another anymore. And maybe it’s better that way.”

Her back arched slightly as she sniffed. Her face was still hidden.

Gilbert closed his eye again, wincing when Eliza sniffed once more.

“W-Well that – sucks,” she said, her voice forcibly light around the snot clogging her throat. “Losing my boyfriend and former best friend in the same week. This is just – I never should have picked on that loser Neil in school even though he really, really was insufferably annoying, this is clearly karma coming back to bite me in the ass –”

“I’m not – friend breaking up with you,” Gilbert said, too tired to even put energy into his voice. “No offense Eliza but you were a huge dick when we broke up – you know what, no. Offense intended. You were a huge, huge dick to me when we broke up. And I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t feeling just a bit vindicated right now but also – fuck. Do you have any… any idea at all what I would’ve given to see you emote like this before?”

Eliza slowly lifted her head, and when Gilbert opened his eyes he saw that clumps of her hair were stuck to her damp cheeks. Her nose was a fountain of tears and snot and she looked altogether resignedly murderous. 

“Well thank you,” she muttered, swiping angrily at her face. “Good to know you enjoy seeing me in emotional turmoil—”

“Yeah, I do,” Gilbert said, irritation starting to get his adrenaline going again. “I do enjoy seeing you in emotional turmoil on some level because it proves you actually have emotions – one of the reasons we didn’t work was because you kept shutting me off from them and now – holy shit we have thirty minutes before the briefing starts I really don’t have time to—”

“I guess you have a type then, considering your boyfriend has all the emotional depth of a rock pool,” Eliza muttered bitterly, fishing around in her pocket. She started placing coins on the table. Gilbert watched her, the meticulous way she lined up all the faces grating at his last nerves.

“You’ve met him once – you haven’t earned the right to fucking talk about him like that,” he snapped, the irritation under his skin taking over, making him reach out to flick the coins, sending them careening out of their neat little piles.

Eliza didn’t react. She simply began stacking the coins again with her same resigned fastidiousness. Silent.

The quiet made Gilbert feel childish and idiotic; annoyed too and ashamed. Enough to tug the last of his snack bills out of his pocket and shove them towards her.

“Go buy your coffee,” he muttered, lying down again. “You could have told me earlier you weren’t planning on sleeping.”

“Wasn’t a plan,” Eliza said, taking the bills and standing. “It simply isn’t working. Thanks. I’ll get you one too.”

“Sure.”

Gilbert closed his eyes, listening to her shuffle off into the doctor’s break room. He drifted off waiting for her to return, and didn’t wake up again until the lights snapped on. 

He kept his eyes closed, petulance.

“Oh my, Doctor, are you not feeling well?”

Gilbert waited, hoping von Bock was talking to someone else. But when von Bock prompted again, “Doctor?” he reluctantly sat up, a smile plastered to his face. God it was bright. And he could feel where his glasses had dug into the bridge of his nose. Always pleasant.

“Nope – fine, just. Resting my eyes.”

Von Bock offered him a perfunctory smile as he sat down. It didn’t reach his eyes.

“Residency almost over?”

“Three more months,” Gilbert said, scrubbing at his hair to try and wake up. He glanced around the room, finally spotting Eliza. She was sitting at the far end of the long conference table, slowly sipping at a cup of vending machine coffee. She caught his eye and gave him a tight smile before gesturing with the paper cup to the coffee in front of him.

“I put your change in there, too,” she drawled, and the familiar bullying was so welcome Gilbert didn’t bother to take the time to feel annoyed. He knocked back half the coffee in one go, unsurprised when he did hear rattling around inside his cup. Wonderful.

“Did you at least wash the coins?” he asked, ignoring von Bock’s slightly nervous glances between them as the staff and nurses came trickling into the room. Eliza merely raised an eyebrow and shrugged, but just when von Bock stood up and began speaking she mouthed, “Truce?”

Gilbert pursed his lips but finally nodded. Eliza was childish, like him. If mildly inconveniencing each other was going to smooth out interactions, then. Whatever. He’d be careful not to choke.

Eliza looked relieved and offered him a very small salute before turning to pay attention to von Bock. He quickly reminded them of the procedural details, mapping out once more where they were going to be cutting on the 3D printed model of the kid’s heart. Update on patient’s condition, estimated time, reminders of proper hydration and facility usage beforehand, and then they were dismissed. 

Gilbert downed the rest of his coffee, fishing out the few coins and grabbing a tissue to wrap them in before shoving them in his pocket. The last few sips had tasted like blood. Copper. Probably.

He ran his tongue over his teeth and gums, glancing over his shoulder to where Eliza was talking with some of the nurses.

Copper.

The nurses were talkative in the locker room. Bright with the nervous energy of pre-surgery jitters. Gilbert got changed into clean scrubs, shoving the tissue coins in the depths of his locker. He adjusted the scrub hat, wincing as the ties caught in his hair. Needed to get a haircut. Ludwig liked his hair a little longer so he’d been putting it off.

…Ludwig.

Gilbert checked his phone one last time, but four in the morning was a bit much. Even for their texting schedule. He typed a quick, /about to head into surgery love you/ and then stashed his phone, shut his locker, took a quick leak, and headed upstairs.

Von Bock wouldn’t shut up in the prep room. He kept chattering away as they washed, got gloves, headed into the operating room. It was one of the old theater ones that Gilbert hated. He always expected to see someone looking down from above, even though access was highly restricted and they were always informed beforehand.

Still. He checked.

No phantoms of the operating theater. As Eliza used to tease him.

He glanced over towards her. Her hair was shoved into her cap, mask firmly in place. Her eyes looked dull against the bright green of the scrubs. 

She was staring off into space. Not unusual. Calming ritual she did sometimes. But for some reason Gilbert couldn’t stop watching her. The same sort of nervousness he felt about the glass up above. That there was something there he wasn’t seeing. Some phantom. It was making her limbs sway, very slightly.

Von Bock asked her a question. She immediately snapped upright and responded in her brusque tone. She looked over her shoulder and raised an eyebrow at Gilbert before tapping her finger against her wrist.

Time was ticking.

Gilbert turned to the gurney, taking his place.

He could still taste the copper in his mouth.

The kid was already unconscious. Brody. Bruiser. Bruce, something like that. Jorgenson was the last name, that’s all he could remember. It was hard to put names with faces when they were covered by a breathing mask. Made everyone look like ailing superheroes. Trying to hide their healthy identities.

Von Bock made the first incision and Gilbert fell into the tense, focused corner of his mind that swallowed him up whenever he saw that much blood. Von Bock was a good surgery head. Calm and optimistic but fast. He gave orders seamlessly and Gilbert’s body moved on auto-pilot to follow them. Mitral valve replacement, left atrium was leaking blood. Most common form of valvular disease – they’d practiced the procedure numerous times in med school alone.

Thirty eight minutes in. Von Bock was fast – he could replace valves in under an hour, easily.

Close.

Gilbert looked at the tray with the mechanical valve. Cutting edge technology. Spared no expense. God that sounded familiar, where was that line from—

“Shit –!”

“Hold it – get the gauze in there!”

Frantic beeping.

“Weillschmidt – take over for Héderváry – quickly—”

“It slipped – I wasn’t—”

“The bypass can’t keep up—”

“I need to stitch it – Weillschmidt hold that damn valve still! Nurse, get Héderváry out of here, now please.”

“He’s bleeding out, we need another bag—”

“—falling into critical territory—”

“—sliced the pulmonary nearly in half. Like she meant to. Who the fuck let her in—”

Gilbert stared down at his fingers buried in the child’s ribcage. His gloves were slick with blood. The heart was beating calmly. Couldn’t hear the beeping. Didn’t know two people weren’t there anymore to watch it suffocate.

It was very cold. Made the blood splattering feel hotter.

“Three more and it’s secured.”

Von Bock’s muttered voice cut through the beeping. It stopped immediately after, as though it had been severed. 

There was so much blood.

Gilbert couldn’t take his eyes away from it. It pooled atop the gurney, red beads adorning the curved surfaces before they lost their grip and plummeted. Far, far down.

Their shoes were cherry. Polka-dots.

“—go now.”

Gilbert heard the voice, skipping through the static clouding his ears. It wasn’t registering; the machine wasn’t beeping, cardiopulmonary bypass lungs soft meat balloons gaping puncture black thread one two three whips of the needle—

“Weillschmidt!”

Gilbert lifted his head. Green eyes were looking at him. Concern. Relief.

“You can let go now,” von Bock repeated gently. “It’s secured. We’re ready to close.”

Gilbert pulled his hands away, letting them fall to rest at his sides, shaking. Each finger shaking. Independent. 

The nurse to his left gave him a worried look before gently nudging him with his elbow.

“Doctor – the sutures,” he gently prompted.

“Huh? Oh – right.”

Gilbert took the needle and leaned over the gash, somehow not flinching when the nurse wiped his glasses off for him. Pink flecked. Left plasma stains behind.

It was the secondary’s job to close. He was the tertiary. 

He set the needle down and stepped away from the gurney. The nurses cleaned everything, tense. Silent. The gurney was wheeled away before the meat became a full person again, more than lungs and heart and blood. And Gilbert found a chair and sat down, studying the bloody footprints he’d left on the tile.

A hand clapped him on the shoulder. Von Bock’s tired voice.

“Your sutures are impeccable as usual. Thanks for closing. You did well under pressure, like Wang said. I’ll be sure to have this go in your dossier.”

“Thank you,” Gilbert dutifully replied, trying to find some pride to color his voice. Pride, gratitude, relief.

His mouth still tasted like copper.

He lifted his head, looking around the operating room. Clean up. Von Bock smiled at him and said the human words ‘get some rest,’ but they didn’t register. 

Gilbert pushed himself to his feet, a prickling on the back of his neck making him look up at the empty glass. The theater box seats.

One was occupied.

He threw his gloves and boot covers in the trash as he left. His scrubs were probably beyond saving. It was already starting to dry.

The stairs up to the theater operating room were slick in places. He had to grab the handrail to keep from falling. A musty smell assaulted him when he pushed open the door to the observation floor. Empty seats save for one phantom.

Gilbert let the door close behind him, padding down the steps towards the front row where she was. Her dark hair spilled out from underneath the cap. Brown against the green and rust. The chair was barely big enough for her to curl her body in. Knees pressing painfully against the seat in front. She was still. Dead like, maybe, she wasn’t visibly breathing.

He sat kitty-corner to her, behind. Keeping his hands to himself. They’d pass right through her. He knew it.

Through the glass the nurses cleaned. Von Bock made his rounds. Distant metallic clatter of instruments. The tension visibly draining out of the room. A peal of laughter. A gentle shove.

The box seats were quiet.

“I hurt that little kid.”

The whisper made the glass shake like a gunshot rattle.

Gilbert rested his elbows on the seat in front of him, shoulders hunched. There was nothing left inside his head now. His skull was boiled clean.

“You made a mistake. It was fixed. He’ll be fine.”

“There’s a hole. Two holes – hit the artery, his lung. That isn’t fine. That’s almost death, that’s – it was only one slip. Oh g-god I couldn’t focus I couldn’t see – my head was pounding I thought – oh god. G-God, please…”

Eliza made herself smaller.

Gilbert tilted his head, watching her collapse. It seemed such a natural thing. Eliza’s sobs. The way she clutched at her hair, building a screen in front of her eyes. Like a mother deer hiding its fawn. There should be narration. James Earl Jones or someone. Sir David Attenborough. Morgan Freeman. 

“He didn’t die,” he reminded her quietly when no baritone began speaking for him. “Barring infection it was a success. With complications but a success. Von Bock said he’ll need an extra transfusion but he’s AB positive, luckily.”

Eliza shook her head. Seven more times than necessary, like it was a compulsion. But she said nothing.

Gilbert rested his cheek on his arms. It was almost six in the morning. There would be a text on his phone, soon. It would be short. Typos. Loving.

Eliza’s phone would be empty for some time. Her dossier thicker. Redder.

A knock on the door made Gilbert sit up. Von Bock was standing at the top of the stairs, his hands in his lap-coat pockets. 

There was blood on his lapel.

“Doctor Héderváry,” he said quietly. “I need to speak with you.”

He glanced at Gilbert.

“Alone, please.”

Gilbert slowly pushed himself to his feet, the wood shaking underneath his fingertips. 

Eliza wasn’t moving.

Gilbert pressed his hand against her shoulder.

“Eliza.”

She twitched at the sound of his voice. Slowly she uncurled and stood. She looked over her shoulder. Her cheeks were dry.

“Please tell Bel I’ll have to reschedule lunch with her,” she said. Clipped. “Enjoy your road trip. Let me know how the whole orphan trauma thing pans out.”

She eased her way out of the row of chairs and headed up the steps, her back straight. Gilbert was too tired to move. He could only watch her, head high. A Mary Queen of Scots air about her. Just missing a rosary in her hand. 

Von Bock offered her a nervous smile, him a patient, sympathetic nod, before the door closed.

Gilbert sat back down, his legs not wanting to work. He stared at his shoes, counting the polka dots for a very long time, before a sudden fear overtook him. With a burst of frantic energy he clawed his way out of the mid-century rows of seats, stuck so close together, tinier bodies, shorter legs, stunted from Prohibition wood alcohol, had to be some reason they were so small.

The locker room was empty.

He yanked his open, fumbling around before he found what he was looking for. He slid to the floor, the phone cheerfully vibrating in his hands as it started up again. The light flashed blue. Message.

His eyes stung at the sudden bright light, watering.

/gud morning you’re beautiful. hop surgery went wel. ‘m not awake but alarmg went offso texty time don’t make fun of me for tecty my fingers are laurge and keyssmall loe you. waffe batter is in the fridge/

Gilbert stared at the picture next to the text box. Ludwig’s blue eyes. Blue not red. His heart worked fine. He worked out. Ate well. No family history of disease, mental illness. His parents were healthy. Grandparents too.

Gilbert pressed the phone to his forehead, his eyes squeezing shut as saline pooled on the insides of his glasses. 

It took him a long while to find the keys to type words that made some sort of sense. By the time the message was composed, the blood-soaked scrubs were in a pile to head to the incinerator. His hair was wet, his glasses cleaned and dried. Locker door slammed shut, Toni’s cheerful goodbye returned, message passed to Bel, questions avoided.

Forty minutes until he’d feel safe again.

Gilbert pressed a hand against his face the moment he was out in the street, stifling a terrified cry. He broke into a run, not caring that he’d forgotten his jacket, his non-work glasses, everything but the wallet and phone in his pocket.

Home.

He needed home.

/please don’t leave yet./

X

Gilbert twisted the watch around his wrist, staring at the elaborate face. Ludwig’s hand on his shoulder tightened slightly before he had to shift, the other cars blowing by them.

“It’ll be okay.”

Gilbert frowned, tapping the little moons on the watch.

“I know.”

“Even if they don’t have information on your family, you went through with it when you didn’t think you’d be able to.”

“I know.”

“The fact that my dad bought you a thousand dollar watch means he expects you to be around a while.”

“I know.”

“And the fact that it’s a thousand dollars means you should probably stop tapping it so ha—Gilbert fingernails are surprisingly strong, please be careful.”

Gilbert pulled his attention away from the watch and leaned his head against the window. The car bounced, hitting him right in the temple.

“Ow,” he muttered. “I mean good. I’ll show up with a migraine. It’ll distract me from how nervous I am.”

Ludwig let out a little breath. At the next light he turned to face Gilbert properly, his expression pinched.

“The point of this rambling is that even if you find out something you don’t like, you have a family already,” he said quietly, gently tapping his finger against the watch. “You won’t be abandoned a second time.”

Gilbert lifted his head, catching Ludwig’s eyes for just a moment. Ludwig owned every syllable of bravado in his words. He looked like a man staring down an undead army. Not some guy driving his boyfriend three hours to a halfway house.

Gilbert pursed his lips and sat back, gesturing to the light. Green. Ludwig raised an eyebrow to show how unimpressed he was by Gilbert’s dodging but he obediently hit the gas and turned to face the road again. 

Gilbert patted his arm. 

“…Fourth time. If you want to get technical and morose about it,” he said dryly. “My best friend in high school and then Eliza. Which –the gagging is unnecessary, Ludwig, I considered it abandonment at the time. And be gentle with the watch, please, it’s a thousand dollars. No roughhousing.”

“Roughhousing – I barely touched it,” Ludwig grumbled, but his shoulders relaxed and his driving became a hair less maniacal. He did glance towards him once more.

“…How is she?” he ventured.

“Wh—ah, Eliza?”

Gilbert shook his head, resting his temple against the window again. 

“Bad,” he said simply. “Got other people to take over her surgery shifts. Delegated herself to intakes and basic ER sutures and things only. I haven’t really talked to her but that’s probably for the best. Her review’s coming up and I’m… let’s just say if they don’t call me in to testify I’ll sew my balls to the carpet.”

“A lovely mental image as always. And the patient?”

“No changes from the last time I heard. Parents aren’t going to sue, always good. He’s recovering, should be out in ten days or so, barring infection.”

“Good to hear.”

“Same. I dunno what – if the kid had died, Eliza would’ve...”

Ludwig waited a moment before gently prompting.

“Would have…”

“Bad.”

“Ah.”

Gilbert glanced out the window, his stomach lurching when he recognized one of the buildings. His old elementary school. Still running, hadn’t been torn down because of asbestos yet. Miracle.

He twisted the watch around his wrist.

“…This watch isn’t really a thousand—”

“On sale at Macy’s, fifty bucks. You’re fine.”

“Oh thank god.”

Ludwig laughed and gave him a small smile, his eyes warm.

“You’re the only person I know who would be relieved that a gift is cheaper than was hinted at.”

“A thousand bucks is a lot of pressure to wear around my wrist,” Gilbert protested, holding up his arm to demonstrate. “Look at these things, they can’t keep a thousand dollar piece of equipment safe!”

“Which I’m assuming is why my father opted for that model,” Ludwig said dryly. “But don’t think the gesture means any less.” He grinned slightly. “He got Francis a bottle of seven dollar wine. Just to see his reaction.”

“Your dad’s a genius. And?”

“Total fakery. Francis didn’t get that it was a joke, kept trying to play up how some cheap wines are excellent for cooking, much better than the expensive stuff,” Ludwig droned, adopting a slight French accent.

Gilbert muffled his laughter against his hand, aware that it was slightly off kilter since nerves were starting to set in. Ludwig’s hand rested on his shoulder the longer the laughter went on, and after a moment said softly, “Breathe, Gil.”

“O-Oh believe me, I’m t-trying,” Gilbert said airily, gesturing out the window. “Look – that’s the corner store I used to get sandwiches and food poisoning from.”

“I wasn’t aware they sold that.”

“What, food poisoning? Aggressive marketing campaign for the food poisoning. Made it all possible.”

“Lovely,” Ludwig muttered, his expression darkening as he glared at the shop. “Amazed it’s still open.”

“Very little’s changed, considering I haven’t been here for twenty some odd years. It’s like they wanted to preserve this time capsule of my youth. Force it down my throat and make me feel like I have to puke and shit worse than any sandwich from Castenello’s could.”

Ludwig returned his hand to the wheel, the GPS guiding them to the parking spot he’d reserved. Because it was Ludwig and only crazy people like him reserved parking spots. The attendant was kind, but curt, and soon they were on the street, Ludwig with a map in hand.

“I told you you’re not going to need that,” Gilbert said in exasperation as he started to walk, following the lurching in his gut. More it lurched closer they got. Better than a compass. “I know where we’re going.”

“Things might have changed,” Ludwig warned. “These neighborhoods can be a bit…”

He fell silent and Gilbert glanced over his shoulder at his boyfriend.

“A bit…?” he prompted, snorting quietly when Ludwig suddenly looked uncomfortable. “Just say it, no one else is around.” He gestured to the empty street of brick row houses.

“…I’m trying to think of a way to phrase this that doesn’t make me sound classist,” Ludwig mumbled, eyeing a bit of graffiti on one of the nice brick homes. “…Although honestly this is a lot nicer than I’d anticipated. Maybe the Google Maps images were out of date…”

“It was an okay place, as far as I can recall,” Gilbert said, taking Ludwig’s hand even though doing so meant that his boyfriend could feel him shaking slightly. Whatever. He’d deal.

Ludwig hummed in response, stopping to study a small flower bed in front of a row house. “How much time did you actually stay there?”

“In the halfway house?” Gilbert frowned in thought, grimacing slightly. “I was apparently in the hospital as a kid. As a small kid. Then in the halfway house until I was nine or so. Six years. Then I was shuffled around foster families, spent the time when I wasn’t with them in the halfway house, left permanently when I was seventeen. So all in total… nine… ten years? Maybe?”

“But they have all your records?” Ludwig said in surprise.

“Yeah, records stay with the initial intake place unless a transfer is requested,” Gilbert droned. He made a face. “I can still hear that woman’s voice. Telling me no sorry mister I mean doctor Weillschmidt you have to come in person unless you’re an accredited institution. The files have been here for over twenty years you could have come get them at any time before we archived them and so on and so on.”

“I’m prepared to be very terse with this woman,” Ludwig promised, giving Gilbert a solemn nod.

“You shouldn’t have to verbalize that, you should be really catty from the start with no prompting or unnecessary pledges,” Gilbert muttered, his mood plummeting as they turned the corner and the halfway house came into view.

Like the rest of the neighborhood it was constructed from old, red brick. Shale roof, flower boxes. Empty now, but full of soil and little green specks that promised blooms in the late spring. The house was slightly bigger than the others on the street – a converted rectory for the former church that was now a trendy bar just down the block. It had a large yard on the side where a row house had been torn down, ringed by an iron-wrought fence. Playground equipment covered most of the extra lawn space, and children’s shrieking laughter could be heard from all the way down the street. 

Gilbert tightened his grip on Ludwig’s hand, all set to bully past the fence and up the small flight to the front door, but his boyfriend paused at the entrance, staring up at the windows. Gilbert waited impatiently and then snapped, “What?”

Ludwig clicked his tongue.

“I was waiting for some sad orphan to stick its head out the window and start singing.”

“…Oh my god—”

“But that’s what you do, right?” Ludwig pressed, a small smile blossoming on his face when Gilbert laughed. “Hollywood led me to believe that much of your time is spent either singing or lugging around metal buckets of water.”

“Most of these kids’ time is spent in school. Or going over to friends’ houses to play. Or concocting escape plans, apparently,” Gilbert said dryly, wriggling his fingers at one of the kids who was gnawing on the iron bars, staring intently up at them. She stuck her tongue out and then darted away to join a larger group of kids. They stopped one by one, watching the steps as Gilbert dragged Ludwig up them.

Ludwig raised an eyebrow and then looked away from the scrutiny, muttering, “Like those dinosaurs in that one farcical movie.”

“The name of the movie is Jurassic Park you pretentious blowhard,” Gilbert snorted, pressing the buzzer. “And yeah foster kids are going to be interested when a couple shows up. The ‘A’ word still holds a lot of weight, even when you leave the desired age range.”

“’A’ word – oh.”

Ludwig immediately looked guilty and cleared his throat. “I… we haven’t really discussed—”

“We’re not adopting a child, Ludwig,” Gilbert said immediately, pressing the buzzer again, right underneath an old metal plaque that said ‘Newman Halfway Home.’ “We can talk about it later when I’m not ready to cartwheel myself onto those iron spikes over there.”

“Your jokes about offing yourself are as fresh and hilarious as ever, by the way,” Ludwig muttered, but his grip around Gilbert’s hand tightened.

The simple wooden door finally opened. A short, portly young woman answered it. She couldn’t have been more than twenty three. Her brown curls were spilling over her green-framed glasses. She pushed her hair out of her face with a perfunctory air, her fingers still embedded in her curls as she said cheerfully, “May I help you?”

“I – you’re not Angela, are you?” Gilbert said slowly, the small woman hardly the image of the drone that had talked his ear off the other day. The girl shook her head, peering up at him with dark brown eyes.

“No, Mrs. Carmichael is out for the day – oh! Oh, you must be Doctor Weillschmidt! Coming to review your files?”

“That’s me,” Gilbert said in mild relief. He’d rather deal with spunky than surly.

The woman’s smile turned a bit bemused as she turned to Ludwig. “And your… frien—oh sorry, boyfriend?”

“Correct,” Ludwig said tersely, muttering ‘ow’ when Gilbert stepped on his foot. Thankfully the woman didn’t seem to notice and quickly ushered them inside. Ludwig cast him a hurt look once they were in the hallway.

“What was that for – these hardwoods look like the originals…”

“Be nice to her. She’s not the woman who badgered me on the phone,” Gilbert murmured, absently noting that the wainscoting he very clearly remembered wasn’t there anymore. Simple plaster. A few doodles that hadn’t been stricken from the white surface still remained. The hallway and adjoining rooms were oddly dark despite the bleached walls.

The woman plodded ahead. Gilbert paused at the stairs, wondering if any of the things he’d scratched into the windowsill would still be there. Probably tossed out with the wainscoting.

A gentle tug on his hand pulled Gilbert away from the stairs back down the hall. The woman made a sharp left just past the stairs, leading them into a small office. She sat down behind the wooden desk and gestured to the two, uncomfortable-looking chairs in front. Gilbert took a seat, Ludwig following shortly after. 

She smiled. A bit anxiously.

“As I said, Mrs. Carmichael is out. She’s the director – very organized, by the books. The children love her even if she’s a little –you talked with her, I’m assuming you can fill in the adjective!”

She laughed and Gilbert followed suit out of courtesy. 

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” he said, reclining back, feeling a bit more relaxed around this younger person than he had the voice on the phone. “She seems to have the kids’ best interests at heart, though. Even former ones like me.”

“That much is true,” the woman said, tugging on a curl. It sproinged back into place. She suddenly let out a little ‘oh’ and then reached across the desk to offer her hand, first to Gilbert, then to Ludwig. “I’m her assistant, by the way. Nikki.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Nikki,” Gilbert said politely, and Ludwig nodded before clearing his throat.

“You seemed surprised that I’m here,” he said. “Am I not allowed—”

“As long as Doctor Weillschmidt doesn’t mind, it’s totally okay,” Nikki said cheerfully, rustling around the papers on the crowded desk. “I set your file aside – Mrs. Carmichael told me you’d be coming…”

She made a triumphant noise and suddenly yanked a manila file folder out from underneath a pile. She opened it and began leafing through.

“Your stuff was archived incorrectly so it actually took a bit of rooting around to find,” she confessed. “The old director – the one who was in charge when you were first admitted – he wasn’t very…” 

She trailed off.

Gilbert snorted and then drawled, “Wasn’t very Carmichaelish?”

Nikki grinned.

“That’s a very polite way of putting it,” she said, passing Gilbert a release form to sign. “Initials only on the X parts, full at the bottom on page one and three, and that should take care of it! I’ll go over things just in case there’s other related files you want me to pull.”

“Related files?” Gilbert asked, scrawling his signature on the line in true unreadable, doctor fashion.

Nikki nodded.

“Birth parent information, siblings, potential adoption couples who were looking into your case, related children’s records… although those last ones can be difficult since very few of our former children have come back to sign their full release forms.”

Gilbert tensed at the words ‘birth parents.’ The nervousness that Nikki’s relaxed mannerisms had laid to rest was rising from its unholy grave. Ludwig gave him a concerned look and even Nikki seemed to pick up on it. She ran her manicured nails along the edges of the file, her pierced eyebrows furrowing in mild concern.

“You could – you could just take the file,” she offered a bit timidly. “But—”

“We can go over it,” Gilbert said as evenly as he could. He sat back in the chair, staring at the pale envelope in Nikki’s hands. It contrasted sharply with her skin. Made the folder stand out like the venomous thing it was to him.

She hesitated a moment but then put a smile back on her face.

“All right then. This is my first time reviewing a file so I’m sorry if I’m a bit blunt or – or not blunt enough! I’m not sure what—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Gilbert muttered, scrubbing at his face. “I’m going to be upset whether there’s information or not. Just do your job.”

Nikki blinked her large eyes in surprise and then glanced cautiously at Ludwig.

He shook his head and mouthed, ‘He’s stressed,’ at which she made a little ‘ah’ noise and quickly opened the file.

“Well let’s get the show on the road, then,” she said, much less false cheer in her voice. “We make a… a ‘one sheet’ kind of thing for every child when we archive things. Saves us from having to—”

“Just tell me what it says about my birth parents,” Gilbert snapped, anxiety making the preamble torturous. 

He immediately winced as Ludwig said a sharp, “Gilbert.” 

Gilbert glanced towards his boyfriend, but the look on Ludwig’s face was one of concern, not anger. Which made Gilbert feel a perfect mix of embarrassed and ashamed. He waved his hand towards the frazzled Nikki, who was looking more and more like she was considering a career change.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “Shit—shoot. I’m. I don’t handle anxiety well.”

“…What kind of doctor are you?” Nikki asked cautiously, grinning weakly when Gilbert shot her an unimpressed, but begrudgingly amused look.

“Pediatrics. Sorry. Again.”

He let out a slow breath and closed his eyes, trying to shove away the little voices singing in his head that his parents were going to turn out to be drug lords or pedophiles or wanted for petty theft in Toronto or something. He felt Ludwig’s hand on his, and he turned his own palm up to thread their fingers together.

He had a family already. In the uncomfortable wooden chair next to him. Potentially more family in a house nestled at the bottom of deadly ski mountains. A family who had driven him three hours just to pick up a single, thin folder that contained trivia from when he was a child. 

Gilbert opened his eyes and gave Nikki what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

“All right,” he said quietly, tightening his grip on Ludwig’s hand. “I’m okay.”

Nikki was kind enough to return the smile before glancing back at the folder. She pursed her lips, and when she glanced up again her smile was apologetic.

“I’m sorry, Doctor Weillschmidt,” she said gently. “We have no information on your birth parents.”

Gilbert stared at her, unsure if he’d heard right. 

“…None – like. Zero? Nothing?”

Nikki shook her head and showed him the box on the page.

“It’s not uncommon,” she said. “We get a lot of calls from the hospital – we’re hard to find so people usually just dump – er, uh…”

She fell quiet, flustered, but Gilbert waved his hand to let her know he didn’t care. 

He sat back in the chair, staring out the small window behind Nikki’s desk. It looked out into the yard where the kids were playing. He tapped the chalk against the blackboard in his head. He’d set it up, prepared. Like a detective in a B-drama. Ready to scribble, speculate, panic and throw coffee cups.

Nothing.

He didn’t know what to write with that.

“…-lbert…”

He turned to see Ludwig staring at him anxiously, the skin pinched around his eyes.

“Gilbert—are you all right with this?” he asked quietly.

Gilbert shrugged, stared at the envelope.

“Don’t really have much of a choice,” he said. “Can’t do anything with nothing.”

“You could maybe ask at the hospital – Saint Joseph’s was where you were taken in and – ah…” She hesitated. “You were in the care of the hospital for quite some time.”

“Yeah, that much I know,” Gilbert said with a little sigh. “I guess I could ask there, but. I dunno, would they know anything more than you guys do?”

“Unlikely,” Nikki said quietly. “I’m… I’m really sorry… there’s still the rest of the file to go over before you leave, if you do want to visit Saint Joseph’s…”

“Yeah… yeah. Okay.”

Gilbert sat up, shoving down his disappointment with practiced obstinacy. He’d probably cry later, but Nikki was already looking on the verge of upset tears herself. Probably not the way she’d imagined her first prodigal son reading to go. She gave him a little smile and then flipped through the folder again.

“All right… would you like to hear about the couples who were interested in adopting you?”

Gilbert snorted quietly and barely managed to keep from rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, hospitalized from birth until age three. That raked in the prospective parents, I’m sure.”

Nikki’s expression fell slightly as she flipped through the pages.

“I’m – I’m sorry to say that does seem to be the case,” she said quietly, her brow furrowing a bit. “…Which is honestly a little surprising, even considering your health history. There’s nothing until much, much later.”

“Later—”

Gilbert sat up straight, his eyes widening.

“W-Wait,” he stammered. “You mean there was actually – there was a couple interested in me?”

Nikki nodded and showed him the little box.

“Not until you were very, very old by adoption standards, though.”

She tapped the box where the number ‘17’ was written and circled.

Gilbert sat back in his chair, unsure what to think. 

“…Seventeen?” he said slowly. “I had a couple asking after me when I was seventeen?”

Nikki nodded and continued to flip pages as she spoke.

“Please don’t read too much irony into this, but they were a couple known for their philanthropy. They actually contributed a good deal of money to Saint Joseph’s, established a number of scholarships for the foster children in the city… the note says they looked into your file but they never followed through with a meeting. I doubt they even knew your name – things are still kept confidential at that point after the child reaches a certain age. Not to mention the whole system was a mess. This was shortly after Mrs. Carmichael took over from the old director.”

“…Huh.”

Gilbert sat back and exchanged glances with Ludwig. His boyfriend shrugged and said quietly, “Up to you if you want to look into it more. But if they didn’t even meet with you...” He glanced at Nikki. “Does it say why they gave up? Did they find another child?”

“I wasn’t a ‘child’ at seventeen, Ludwig,” Gilbert muttered, but he glanced curiously at Nikki, who only shook her head.

“It doesn’t say… I can go pull their file, if you want?” she offered.

Gilbert raised an eyebrow.

“You keep files even on potential adoption couples? Isn’t that a little extreme?”

Nikki shrugged as she stood, a tired smile on her face. “Like I said, Mrs. Carmichael is very thorough. Since they came into the picture after her reign started it shouldn’t take long to find them. I can see if they signed any release forms… I’ll be right back.”

With a sharp click of heels she walked out of the room, leaving Ludwig and Gilbert alone. Gilbert ran his fingers through his hair, trying to keep calm.

“Well they’re not birth parents. Or adoptive parents – they’re really not much of anything at all, are they,” he said dryly. “Not sure why she’s bothering to pull their file…”

“I’m sure she just wants to give you any leads she can. She probably feels guilty about the whole birth parent non-starter,” Ludwig said quietly, sitting back and giving Gilbert’s hand a little squeeze. “Saint Joseph’s though… my pediatrician was there when I was growing up. Small world.”

Gilbert snorted and raised an eyebrow at Ludwig.

“What, you guys don’t bring in a Sherpa-led housecall doctor?” he drawled. “That’s surprising.”

“We didn’t always live in the mountains,” Ludwig said, gently flicking Gilbert’s forehead. “Smartass. We had a city apartment for a while. It’s where I grew up.”

“…Oh.” Gilbert frowned, rubbing his forehead. “I don’t think I knew that.”

“Why would you? It’s trivia. Trivial trivia, at that. The apartment was tiny, anyway. I’m glad you met me after we moved.” Ludwig gave him a little grin. “The mountain house is much more impressive. Would have been way harder to ask my boyfriend to move in with me if we’d just spent a holiday crammed in that dinky apartment.”

Gilbert rolled his eyes and socked Ludwig in the arm, but they both fell silent as Nikki returned. She was brandishing another folder in triumph.

“They signed a release form,” she said, sitting down again with an air of accomplishment. “So now I don’t have to feel guilty and say you can’t look at this. Let me just take a quick peek…”

She skimmed the papers, her dark eyes moving rapidly behind her glasses. Gilbert watched her, feeling oddly… uninvested. His point still stood. Not birth parents, not adoptive parents. Prospective ones. That amounted to less than nothing. Didn’t matter how saintly they were.

He sat up a bit straighter when Nikki clicked her tongue in surprise.

Gilbert raised an eyebrow.

“What is it?”

Nikki glanced up from the paper, her eyes sad.

“I think I know why they didn’t go through with it,” she said gently. “For some reason I stupidly thought that it might have been a financial thing but of course it wasn’t. They’re old money – well old and new. The wife is a very successful financial broker. The husband is the old money. Hence the donations everywhere. But it looks like they’d already adopted a child. He was also seventeen at that point; they probably didn’t want to disturb his life.”

She held out the paper for Gilbert to see. He spotted the word a split second before she said it.

“Funnily enough, I think it was your twin they adopted. That’s probably why they looked in on you. All they received were bare facts – not much more than ‘yes he’s alive.’ Which is a bit callous but – …Doctor?”

Gilbert stared at the words splashed across the page. Tiny dates, information on background checks, finances, references. In a small box marked ‘other.’

_Has dealt with Newman’s House before. Adopted the healthy twin from the Double L set at Saint Joseph’s. Newman’s mediated. Look into Director Haden’s records. Were not properly informed._

Gilbert slowly sat back, his ears ringing.

A twin.

He wanted to call the paper a liar – it was hard to argue with wood pulp. And ink, there was ink there too. A twin – the sickly twin by the sound of it – the possibility that there was someone else out there with his blood. Healthier blood. Maybe with his face. Probably a healthier face. And these people knew, even the possibility –

“This can’t be right.”

The sudden burst of noise startled Gilbert out of his shock. He looked up at Ludwig. His boyfriend was glaring at Nikki; face pale, fingers digging into the back of Gilbert’s hand.

Nikki peered over the manila envelope. Like she was a neighbor unsure if she should watch the drama unfolding in the backyard next door.

“It is,” she said neutrally. “Like I said, Mrs. Carmichael is very thorough – I don’t know why the adoptive parents weren’t made aware of the sibling before, but it seems like—”

“Then she made a mistake,” Ludwig snapped, his fingers tightening around Gilbert’s. He was breathing heavily, eyes dilated. “Call her – call her right fucking now – I want this straightened out.”

“Ludwig!” Gilbert said sharply, trying to tug his hand away. “Calm down, please, before you stroke. I’m the one who should be freaked, but this – it’s not exactly bad news, just startling—”

Ludwig suddenly let go of his hand. He sat, ramrod straight, staring at the files open in front of them.

Gilbert shook out his fingers, wincing when he noticed the little half-moon shapes flecked across the back.

“God – you couldn’t have let go before your grip reached mutilation levels?” he muttered, the words lacking any kind of real admonition. He’d never seen his boyfriend look so un-Ludwig. Not even cold assistant-to-the-ambassador Ludwig. 

Just nothing Ludwig. Blank Ludwig.

Gilbert finally cleared his throat. Ludwig was still sitting in stony silence. 

“…So I have a sibling,” he said, injecting as much airy nonchalance into his voice as possible. “Purportedly have a sibling. It’s nothing to get worked up about yet. We don’t even—”

Ludwig wordlessly pointed to the header of the page. Above the case number were two little words.

Gilbert blinked, but then followed the line of Ludwig’s finger to the small box. Marked ‘Client Name.’

Ludwig’s finger was shaking, very slightly.

In the box, above the case number, eleven letters had been carefully typed out.

_Schmidt, Lisa._


	13. THIRTEEN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally carved some time out from school to work on this. Enjoy! As much as possible. Lotta angst.

“It won’t work.”

“You keep putting those words in that order. It’s almost like you’re trying to communicate.”

Ludwig’s blue eyes narrowed. His chin wrinkled like an albino broccoli. 

Cauliflower. That was it.

“I keep ‘putting those words in that order’ as you so clumsily phrased it because their value and array is germane too – Gilbert stop mocking me!”

“What?! You can’t use words like ‘germane’ in the middle of a healthy debate—”

“I’m pretty sure lawyers do it all the time –”

“—and expect me to take you seriously!”

“Because this is a serious issue, Gilbert!”

Gilbert let out a groan and flopped backwards into the oversized chair. It made a crinkling noise. On account of all the fucking plastic Ludwig had wrapped around both cushions. Individually.

“You Gilbert-proofed the nicest room in your townhouse and you’re obsessing about drapes.”

“Bamboo blinds,” Ludwig said sulkily. “Drapes are something a cloying Victorian woman would hang in her sitting room.”

Gilbert gave Ludwig a look.

“The value of the word I chose is germane to the conversation. Ludwig.”

Ludwig’s lips twitched up into a slight smile. He nodded slightly in Gilbert’s direction.

“Touché, Doctor. Well played.”

Gilbert bowed, flourishing his hand.

Ludwig let out a heavy sigh and plunked down on the floor in front of the chair. He squeezed Gilbert’s right calf. Drummed his fingertips against his jeans.

“So now that the little game of one-uppance is over, you want to tell me why you apparently hate the thought of sustainably grown window trimmings in my study?”

Gilbert’s toes twitched in response to the touch. He scraped Ludwig’s hand away with his left heel.

“The fact that it’s ‘your,’” he said, cursing when the plastic crinkled too much to give his words any weight.

Ludwig rubbed his hand and scooted back just a bit, ceding ground.

“…Well it is mine,” he said quietly. “Although I can see how that might bother you.”

“I’m so glad you have twenty-twenty pity vision,” Gilbert said dryly, making a frustrated noise as the plastic crinkled again. He stood up and pointed at the offending chair.

“And what the fuck – do you think I’m going to pee on your fancy chair?!”

“You spilled coffee within two minutes of moving in – an entire pot somehow on the bedroom rug?” Ludwig pointed out, staring up at Gilbert. “I was erring on the side of caution. It’s not permanent.”

“Oh thank god it’s not permanent – if it were permanent my feelings might have actually been hurt,” Gilbert muttered, crossing his arms over his chest. “And you know my coffee ritual. I told you.”

“And I maintain that a pot of coffee is not an appropriate stuffed animal substitute in the morning. Or at any time, really,” Ludwig said, still cradling his slapped-hand against his chest. “And don’t – please don’t make that face.”

Gilbert pursed his lips.

“What face.”

“Your ‘I’m about to tell you a sad orphan story to win the argument’ face,” Ludwig muttered.

Gilbert’s hands flew up to feel around his lips and cheeks and brows.

“…Shit. I make a face when I do that?”

Ludwig nodded, finally cracking a tentative smile.

“It’s very effective. And for some reason my ‘I had a charmed childhood’ smirk isn’t a very good retort.”

“Well you guys only had three cars. Maybe you could try garnering sympathy at the country club?” Gilbert said, finally sitting down next to Ludwig on the floor with a grand show of reluctance.

Ludwig scooted a bit closer.

“Everyone there likes to brag about how many ponies they had,” he said quietly. “The pony smug tends to drown everything else out.”

Gilbert made a sympathetic noise.

“And you had just the one pony?”

“Not even,” Ludwig said. “Half.”

Gilbert bit his lip but a little snort of laughter forced its way out through his nose. He swore and plugged his nostrils with two fingers. 

Ludwig stared at him.

“You’re gross.”

Gilbert didn’t remove his fingers.

“You rode half a pony as a child. How is that even possible?”

“Very specific necromancy.”

Gilbert laughed again, the noise more of a pathetic honk than anything. He lowered his hands and stared at Ludwig pointedly until Ludwig signed.

“I know,” he said.

“What exactly.”

“I’m controlling.”

Gilbert raised an eyebrow and sat back on his heels.

“Go on.”

“I’m not a child when it comes to emotions, Gilbert. Although you are punishingly vague at times,” Ludwig muttered, his cheeks coloring. “But I am aware of the effect my neurosis can have on others. And I know it isn’t a pleasant one.”

“Don’t flatter your brain too much there, Schmidt, you’re nowhere near neurosis territory,” Gilbert said blandly. He glanced at the plasticed chair. “Maybe only one toe in. Pinkie toe. Nothing serious.”

“My mother will be proud.”

“So you get it, right?” Gilbert pressed, nudging Ludwig’s thigh. “You have to get it.”

“I do,” Ludwig mumbled, averting his eyes.

“I never had a home—”

“Gilbert, please – the orphan talk—”

“—of my own. Nothing of mine that I could decorate or hold dear– Ludwig stop! Stop gagging!”

“I wasn’t gagging I was grimacing,” Ludwig clarified, grabbing Gilbert’s flailing hand by the wrist before he lost an eye. 

“If you’re not going to take my dramatics seriously then we’re going to have to have a long and arduous talk,” Gilbert warned, wiggling his fingers in the direction of Ludwig’s vulnerable eyes.

“You can have the living room.”

Gilbert blinked. His fingers stopped wiggling.

“Sorry?”

“Don’t be.”

“Hilarious. What do you—”

Ludwig held up his hands in surrender.

“I cede it to you. As Gilbert territory. Or joint Ludwig-Gilbert territory. Gilwig territory.”

“Terrible name,” Gilbert murmured absently, glancing over his shoulder towards the living room. “All right for a Harry Potter character, though.”

“You can decorate or – I wouldn’t really recommend throwing the leather couch out since it was very expensive and makes me feel important, but if you want to, then… whatever you’d like,” Ludwig continued. “And the bedroom – you get a half, obviously. Or bits and pieces that end up comprising a half. So that ugly—”

“—poster of Shaq from Kazaam – you’ll let me put that up in the bedroom?” Gilbert asked excitedly. “Seriously?!”

Ludwig flinched. His lips battled gamely with his kindness for a long moment.

“…If you. Really wouldn’t feel uncomfortable with him staring at us whenever we—”

“Shaq’s seen some shit, he’ll be fine,” Gilbert said animatedly, pushing himself to his feet. “But living room? Living room can be mine, too?”

“Yes – there’s not a second study or I’d give that to you,” Ludwig said, standing as well. “Maybe we could convert the servant’s quarters…”

He held up his hands again when Gilbert stared at him.

“Kidding.”

“Somehow I don’t think you are,” Gilbert muttered, staring warily around the room before turning to Ludwig and tackling him. He propped his chin on the other man’s collarbone.

“So the living room’s going to be yellow.”

“Yellow.”

“By tomorrow. Yellow from floor to ceiling.”

“Oh.”

“Carpets, pillows, sofa – the TV.”

“Screen too?”

“Oh the screen’s gonna be like – the most yellow thing in there,” Gilbert said firmly, his knuckles rubbing the base of Ludwig’s spine through his sweater. “So yellow – like staring into the sun. If the sun were a TV screen that could only display one color. And that color were yellow.”

Ludwig hummed quietly, carding his fingers through Gilbert’s hair.

“Sounds cheerful.”

“Impossible to feel blue,” Gilbert said firmly, laughing when he felt Ludwig groan. “What?”

“Color puns, really? After threatening to yellow the living room?”

Gilbert wrinkled his nose.

“…You know I’m not actually going to do that, right?”

“I did have a feeling,” Ludwig said quietly, tapping his fingertips against Gilbert’s shoulder blades. “But I was completely serious. I could live with a yellow living room.”

Gilbert butted his chin against Ludwig’s collarbone again.

“…Green.”

“Doable.”

“Brown.”

“Sounds very… woodsy.”

“Red.”

Ludwig’s face fell slightly and before he could recover Gilbert burst out laughing.

“Ha! Red it is, then!”

“It’s not that I have a problem with it –”

“It’s just that you watched that one episode of Dexter so you’d feel like you were walking into a murder scene every time?”

“That. That’s not. Entirely –”

“That’s it.”

Ludwig made a face.

“It was just so gratuitous. We get it; the guy has a blood complex. Showtime needs to learn the meaning of the word ‘moderation.’”

Gilbert laughed again and pushed himself up to kiss the bridge of Ludwig’s nose. 

“You make it extremely easy to love you, Ludwig Schmidt.”

“That makes me sound positively incubusal,” Ludwig deadpanned, but his nose wrinkled in pleasure. “…Do you think my loveableness would have any sway with the producers of premium cable television shows?”

“I’m fairly sure the show’s been over for at least three years now, so unless your pony reanimation spellbook also contained helpful time-travel incantations, you may be out of luck there,” Gilbert said, kissing Ludwig’s cheek before scooting away towards the living room, eager to survey his new kingdom of over-priced armchairs and VCRs that Ludwig insisted on keeping.

Ludwig trailed after him, but stopped in the doorway, apparently content to watch as Gilbert picked up throw pillows and then tossed them into neat little piles of ‘burn’ and ‘retain.’

“So are you really okay, then?” Ludwig suddenly asked.

Gilbert peered at him over the top of a throw pillow.

“In this moment? Considerably better than okay,” he said slowly. “Why?”

Ludwig rubbed the back of his neck.

“Yesterday – the call from Eliza and… your. Sad. In the garden.”

“My sad in the garden.”

“There was rain.”

“Ah. Right.”

Gilbert fluffed the pillow, squeezing its little pillow insides into lungs and hearts and stomachs. 

“My garden sad is sort of still hanging out, yeah. I guess,” he said finally. “If I have to admit it. I mean – okay, don’t get me wrong. I love Bel. She’s amazing. But she’s. Not me. You know?”

“I’d like to think I’m well acquainted with the fact that you are not, in fact, a spunky blonde nurse,” Ludwig said quietly. “And I use spunky in the most terrifying of ways. I’m fairly sure she’s on crystal meth a good eighty percent of the time.”

“Well apparently ‘terrifyingly spunky’ is what Eliza needs right now,” Gilbert muttered, sitting down on the couch and hugging the pillow. “And I’m not about to rain on her parade even more with my garden sad.”

Ludwig sat down next to him and Gilbert gratefully leaned against his shoulder.

“You’re scheduled for that surgery soon, right? The one where you have to work with her?” Ludwig asked, nuzzling his nose against Gilbert’s temple. “Maybe you can talk to her beforehand. Or maybe the two of you will be able to bond over the child’s open. Lungs. Or whatever.”

“Ribs, Ludwig. Ribs,” Gilbert muttered, burying his face against Ludwig’s chest. “We’re not really in the business of slashing open children’s lungs to try and operate on the heart from inside a ballooning meat bag. Although I concede the challenge would be fun.”

“Bonding over ribs. The non-barbeque kind,” Ludwig said gently, resting his hand on Gilbert’s back. “The takeaway message is that you’re friends. Remember, you drank the friend wine last night. Or whatever. The bottle she gave you. If she needed Nurse Bel at the bar last night, there will come a time when she’ll need you, too. And only you. That’s how friends work. Or so I hear.”

Gilbert snorted softly, accidentally inhaling a bit of Ludwig’s shirt.

“So you hear. You have friends, Ludwig.”

“Not like you and her,” Ludwig said, his thumb running over the bumps in Gilbert’s spine. “Which is honestly fine. Work and you keep me busy. Adding a third element of friendship to the mix would probably overwork my circuit board.”

“Element of – you sound like a children’s cartoon,” Gilbert laughed, lightly hitting Ludwig’s thigh.

“As opposed to an adult’s cart—”

“It’s an art form, Ludwig, and adults are perfectly capable of appreciating it.”

“I’m still not watching that one about the boy and his dog. No matter how much you quote it I won’t cave.”

“Missing out. You won’t watch Star Wars either.”

“Me shattering your cups was an omen. I’m never going near it.”

“And we’re agreed we’re getting that mastiff to compensate for the loss.”

“I told you that if you can carry it from the shelter to our car we can adopt it,” Ludwig said firmly, grabbing Gilbert’s nose. “And if you promise to never try riding it.”

Gilbert licked Ludwig’s hand to get him to move it and then flexed. An inappropriate amount. 

“These guns know how to work. You’d better mastiff-proof the house, Ludwig. I bet Jupiter’s got a penchant for opening cabinets.”

“God you already named it,” Ludwig muttered, pushing Gilbert’s bicep down. “And stop that, you’re making me stricken with envy over your unattainable physique.”

Gilbert burst out laughing and punched Ludwig in the arm.

“So when that guy came up to us at the club—”

“Mm.”

“—and asked what gym you go to – really he was addressing me.”

“Oh, clearly.”

“And not you.”

“Clearly not.”

“Despite the fact that you were wearing a tanktop. Chosen just so you could strut around—”

“Strut – don’t use your limited verbal vocabulary to try and insult me.”

“—and show off.”

“If you’ll recall,” Ludwig said dryly, prodding Gilbert’s nose. “It was you that insisted I ‘dress down.’ And when my conniption from the mere suggestion expired you were the one who threw the tanktop at my face and told me to ‘just put the damn thing on and quit being such a muscle baby.’ Putting aside the horror of the mental image that conjured, I obeyed, like the good boyfriend I am.”

Gilbert fell silent, his fingers twitching as he felt the memory of the cotton shirt in his hand. The weight of the jacket he’d lent Ludwig. Ludwig’s shoulders as he hunched down, tying Gilbert’s shoe for him. Laughing when Gilbert joked about how he resented being the Cinderella, clearly he was the evil stepmother with the knife to cut off his daughter’s toes and heels; she was the most interesting of the bunch.

He felt himself smile, sad garden drying up until the cobblestones were only damp.

“You are the best boyfriend,” he said quietly.

Ludwig blinked in surprise, apparently not expecting the shift in mood. His features softened after a moment and his fingers rested tentatively against Gilbert’s cheek.

“I have some pretty stiff competition.”

“That you do,” Gilbert agreed, tilting his head into the touch. He pressed a kiss to the swell of Ludwig’s thumb.

“Tell me everything’s going to be okay.”

Ludwig’s thumb brushed against his lips.

“Everything’s already okay. And it will remain so.”

“You promise.”

“I very much do.”

“And Eliza will need me.”

“She already does.”

“And you know this because—”

“—no one who’s met you doesn’t need you,” Ludwig said simply. “You make it impossible for people to let you in and out of their lives. You leave a thread behind they can’t help but want to pick up and toy with every once in a while or follow back to you. And in Eliza’s case… it wasn’t so much a thread as an entire tapestry you left there. Unraveling but coherent.”

Ludwig leaned forward to kiss Gilbert’s forehead, threading their fingers together.

“And it’s okay to want to be needed.”

“You don’t think I’m petty?” Gilbert asked, lightly squeezing Ludwig’s fingers in thanks when his boyfriend shook his head.

“I think you’re very human,” Ludwig said finally, bumping their joined fists against Gilbert’s chest. “With a very bleeding heart.”

Gilbert let out a little breath and then laughed quietly.

“Let’s hope that phrase stays a metaphor only. This surgery’s got me all nervous about bleeding hearts.”

Ludwig wrinkled his nose but then shrugged. “Well I’m sure Doctor… whatever his name is, the one that you two walk over. I’m sure he and Doctor Héderváry—

X

“—ctor Héderváry was clearly in an agitated state. I have to ask the present staff again if they concur.”

Gilbert traced a knot the oaken conference table. The windows were open. Condensation was pooling underneath the glasses of water rimming the table. Some of them were beginning to slide towards the edge of the table, carried by their own sweat. 

“Doctor.”

His glass was full. Every time someone moved or coughed, the table jostled, water rushed down the sides in tiny streams, catching the beads clinging to the glass to drag them down too.

“Doctor, if you please.”

He was afraid to touch it. If water reached his lips they’d crack open and everything would rush out.

“Doctor Weillschmidt!”

Gilbert jumped. His knee knocked against the table. Water rivulets poured over the sides, oozing together to form a lake on the table. Too big to be a puddle, too small to be an oce—

“Doctor, your attention for five minutes.”

Gilbert lifted his head, meeting first the gazes of his colleagues sitting around the table. Meeting last the pair of eyes at the head.

The chief of medicine’s voice was even-keeled. His glasses were wire rimmed. He never touched them. They never slid down his nose. The lenses never had fingerprints. His glasses inspired a very specific sort of terror. The terror that prophesized that the day Chief of Medicine Oxenstierna touched his glasses, admitted his humanity, would be the day the Earth’s crust would split. That somehow his glasses and their particular position on the bridge of his nose were capable of starting a chain reaction that ended with the earth swallowing up every speck of sentient life its core could take.

Gilbert stared at the man’s glasses, willing them to slide. Anything to solicit adjustment. Under the Earth’s crust was probably warm. Probably smelled like bread baking. Infinitely better than this conference room with its suicidal glasses and terrified, devastated friends.

Oxenstierna made another note on his clipboard before folding his long-fingered hands atop the page. His blue eyes calmly regarded Gilbert from behind their lenses.

“This is a formal hearing. As I will remind you again. You must answer. Details are, at this stage, superfluous.”

“Yes, Doctor.” Gilbert heard himself respond. He could feel Eliza trembling a few chairs away. Anger or fear. Exhaustion. A cocktail of all three.

Roderich, sitting at the head of the table next to Oxenstierna, didn’t seem to notice. The lapels of his lab coat were pressed. As director he didn’t even need to wear a lab coat and yet he ironed his. In front of a room packed with his colleagues – every major surgeon in the place. Every nurse that was on staff. The hospital lawyer. Roderich wore his pressed lab coat. His notes were meticulous, and he hadn’t once said Eliza’s name.

“Then, Doctor Weillschmidt, either disagree or agree with the statement,” Oxenstierna said, resting his clipboard on the table. “Do you agree that Doctor Héderváry was in an agitated state at the time. I realize the surgery was almost two weeks ago. We were remiss to not collect sufficient reports at the time. You may have difficulty remembering.”

Gilbert stared out the window, watching a leaf press itself against the glass. It wanted in. It was old, left over from autumn. It probably wanted to die in a hospital. Like most things nowadays.

Agitated state.

He’d heard Eliza crying in Roderich’s office. Roderich hadn’t let her sobs get in the way of his panicked admonishings. His insistances that Eliza’s fragility had everything to do with her inability to reconcile reality with her mental narrative. Where were her psychiatric care records, she’d seen a therapist a few years ago, had she followed through with group therapy. Eliza’s yells, humiliated and terrified. The entire hallway had heard. The whole floor. It had been so loud, the air so charged that Gilbert had vague feelings of light bulbs bursting, windows shattering.

This room was very quiet. The sound of water running down glasses.

Gilbert tapped a finger against the table and watched the water lake tremble.

“No, Doctor. I do not think Doctor Héderváry was in an agitated state immediately prior to the surgery. I think she was very tired, as we all were, due to the surgery’s poor timing at the end of our shift.”

“You said immediately prior – implying she was agitated at some point during the day? But not immediately before?” Roderich suddenly pressed. Gilbert could see his throat tightening. Like a lizard’s just before it expired.

All the eyes in the room were on Gilbert. The senior doctors’, sharp and distrustful. The juniors’, terrified. Kept darting to steal glances of Elizaveta’s pale face. Her shirt was purple. Black blazer. No white coat.

Eliza wasn’t looking at anything. Her gaze was fixed on a spot at the far end of the wall, right below the air vent. Gilbert wondered what she saw there. If anything. Maybe it was all white. Or purple like her shirt. Maybe she was thinking about Oxenstierna’s glasses. Wishing they would shatter, bypass the subtlety of slippage all together. Just crack and explode. More likely that she wished Roderich’s would. Less apocalyptic, but a greater chance of him being stricken blind by a wayward shard of polyplastic. 

Gilbert drummed his fingers against the table again. The little tick he’d taken up to anchor himself.

“Doctor Héderváry had been showing signs of stress earlier that day, yes. But not immediately prior to surgery.”

He’d practiced the line a million times in front of the hotel mirror. Yes, she’d been distressed. Everyone knew. He couldn’t lie. But it had only been them in the prep room. And her hands had been steady, he remembered. Everything else about that week was colored various shades of horror yellow. But her hands in blue gloves. They were still steady.

It didn’t matter. The other doctors started murmuring. The lawyer, Miss Arlovskaya, was rubbing her neck. As though she felt a noose there already. The stack of papers in her lap was four inches thick. The child’s name was on them. Grievances. Legalese-rendered sorrow. Rattling lungs, no more baseball, swimming, hiking up Everest. Collapsed into several hundred sheets of legal sized paper.

Roderich looked sick to his stomach. He tried to hide it by swallowing, but the knot of his tie was pressed up too tightly against his Adam’s apple. He was choking himself. A different sort of noose, probably, than the one the lawyer felt.

Oxenstierna’s mouth was a black slash across his face. He made several notes on his clipboard.

“And you’ll testify to this in a court. As a primary witness.”

Gilbert shrugged. The lawyer pursed her lips at him.

“Does that constitute a yes, Doctor?”

“If you think my testimony will at all help the hospital, then sure,” he said dully. “I’ll testify. Although I question my usefulness as someone who has no access to the inner workings of Doctor Héderváry’s brain the days leading up to the operation. I can only speak about what I observed and the events I am aware of—”

“I really must agree with Doctor Weillschmidt on this,” Roderich said quickly. “His knowledge amounts to little more than speculation and guesswork. And a fair amount of hospital gossip. Nothing substantial.”

“Doctor Edelstein, I recommend you stop treating yours and Doctor Héderváry’s breakup like it’s a smoking gun you need to bury,” Arlovskaya said with a disapproving click of her teeth. “You aren’t the one on trial for malpractice. Although anyone in this room could tell you you were asking for trouble dating a doctor under your supervision. As I believe I mentioned. Several dozen times.”

Roderich shot the thin woman a glare, but he said nothing more, merely closed his folder and crossed his arms over his chest.

Oxenstierna set his clipboard down and lifted his head. Strands of graying blonde hair fell in his eyes. He looked past them like they weren’t there, his gaze settling on Eliza.

“Doctor Héderváry.”

Eliza finally twitched. She met the Chief’s eyes. When she spoke her voice was quiet. Almost uninterested.

“Yes.”

“The hospital will support you,” Oxenstierna said, leisurely scrutinizing the faces of the other doctors assembled before returning to Eliza. “That is our stance. Your suspension will be lifted shortly. You will not be placed on any surgery lists until the trial is settled.”

He clicked his pen closed. The signal that the meeting had ended.

Immediately the scraping of chairs lurched up to a deafening noise. Gilbert remained seated, letting people squirm past him as they filed out of the room. Arlovskaya stopped by Eliza to rest an awkward hand on the top of her head before she too walked out of the room, her heels clicking dramatically on the floor.

Roderich was the last to go. His palms left behind little sweat marks on the folders clutched in his hands. He hovered, a bird who had just crashed into a window and found itself, somehow, still clinging to life.

With a sudden jerk he shook off his daze and hurried out the door, leaving only a muttered, “We should talk in private,” in his wake.

Gilbert slowly leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. Quiet again. Water dripping. Down the surface of the glasses. Eliza’s skin.

“Does that help?” he asked, not bothering to look. He could hear the soft pads of the drops falling on her skirt.

“No.”

Her voice was stuffy. Bitter.

“Has it been helping you?”

Gilbert slowly shook his head. The hotel key in his wallet was stained. He’d pulled the plastic off the surface. Turned out the ink bled. The name was barely legible now. He’d had to write it on his hand instead, kept forgetting if it was the Ritz-Carlton or the Fairmont. Something expensive. Something beautiful and lovely. The room charges weren’t coming out of his wallet. Made it harder to remember.

“Oh.”

Eliza sniffed again.

“Sorry. I should – your issues are. It’s another thing. I… I’ll be less selfish.”

“Be selfish,” Gilbert said, finally forcing himself to open his eyes before he fell asleep. “At least one of us has the option.”

Eliza nodded, her fingers toying with one of the buttons on her blazer.

“…Still don’t want to tell me?” she asked after a moment. “I think this is the longest you’ve held a grudge. I know I didn’t tell you everything, that you’re mad I confided in her instead, but—”

“Eliza I do not give the tiniest of fucks anymore that you and Bel are now besties. I’m glad – I’m indifferent, to be more precise.”

Gilbert let the front legs of his chair fall to rest on the floor. He stood, shoving his hands in his lab coat pockets.

“Let’s go get dinner. I’ll buy.”

“I don’t have my ID on me,” Eliza said, her voice almost timid. “Still haven’t gotten it back. So the cafeteria’s out.”

“Fine. Some place with alcohol, then. I’m clocking out early. Bel will cover for me, I’m sure.”

Gilbert pushed open the door with his shoulder and headed into the hall. The doctors had scattered after the meeting. The early evening lights were on. Fluorescents slightly dulled. Calmer.

Eliza shadowed him with uneven footsteps. When Gilbert glanced over his shoulder he saw that she was stepping in the middle of every tile. Like a superstitious child.

She looked up, her cheeks slightly flushed.

“…I figure every little bit helps. My luck’s been shit lately, so. Don’t want to test fate,” she muttered. But she dropped onto her heels, her stride turning adult.

Gilbert watched her walk, her back proud, shoulders twisted.

It was painful to see her grow up in an instant. Pretending to be young allowed belief, ignorance.

As Eliza passed, Gilbert reached out and snagged her hand.

“If you’re going to regress, do it properly. Your toes can’t touch the line, no adjacent tiles. If it’s easy you’re doing it wrong,” he said tersely, staring off down the hall again. 

The ball of his foot landed squarely on the middle of the tile every time. Eliza’s footprints shadowed his.

X

“Do you think we deserve this?”

Gilbert stared over his beer at Eliza. Her chin was propped in her hand. Her fingernail scratched at a zit just on her hairline.

“What, acne?”

Her green eyes caught his, unimpressed.

“No. Jackass. This.”

She gestured at the restaurant. It was almost packed to capacity. Friday night. Live band playing swanky jazz music, dimmed lights, weekend menu with jacked up prices. Most people looked nice. Wore shirts that you’d feel guilty about throwing in a washing machine. 

Gilbert’s scrubs stood out. The waiter had given him a rather sullen look that only intensified when Gilbert had asked for tap water. Eliza’s five martinis had put him in a better mood, thankfully. The chances of him spitting in the food were now more in the thirty percent chance range, despite Gilbert asking if the duck sandwich would be any cheaper if they left the leeks and watercress off. Apparently not.

Gilbert glanced at his tap water and then shrugged, flicking a drop of condensation at Eliza.

“You’re asking me if you think I deserve tap water and overpriced French fries.”

Eliza pursed her lips and looked away, muttering, “Now I remember why I hate when you make me pick the place to go out to eat. You get so sarcastic and bitter.”

“You’re the one asking weird questions – and if you don’t start drinking your damn martinis instead of hording them I’m going to take one,” Gilbert threatened. “And forgive me if I’m not in a very philosophical mood. I’ve had a hard day.” He flicked a piece of bread at Eliza. She caught it in midair and gave him a sour look.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Was testifying at my malpractice hearing stressful for you?”

“You know damn well it was. Stop acting like a brat.”

Eliza viciously tore the bread in half and rolled its insides into a ball. 

“Fine – fine, I guess we’re not going to talk about it,” she muttered, flattening the bread ball with the back of her fork.

Gilbert leaned over and grabbed a martini, downing it in a few gulps. He set the glass aside, unsurprised that Eliza didn’t seem to have noticed. Or cared.

“We can talk about the trial if you want,” he said, resting his elbows on the table. “But if I’m remembering correctly you were the one that said ‘shut the fucking fuck up about the trial, Gilbert, I don’t want to talk about it’ in the train on the way over here.”

Eliza’s eyes flicked up, away from the mutilated carbohydrate on her plate. The green in her irises was emerald hard. Calculating like Gilbert hadn’t seen in a long time. Not the zombie eyes of the board room.

She quirked her head in his direction.

“I meant talk about the hotel key in your wallet.”

The jazz music picked up. Trumpet solo. Gilbert found his gaze wandering to stare at the player from across the room. Wasn’t everything supposed to go silent. Maybe a little drum roll if it were a comedy. Inquisitive neighbor tables leaning in, ears trained for his glib response. 

The world was supposed to care that two inconsequential words suddenly had consequence for him. A weight that ripped his guts out through his navel, made his tongue ache for liquor and his toes avoid cracks in the floor. Hotel key, hotel key in his pocket. A new identity of homelessness.

But the jazz music played. The world waited for its own two words to fall. Until they did it couldn’t empathize. Dredge up curiosity enough to even eavesdrop.

A scraping sound made Gilbert look up. Eliza was easing a bottle of wine across the table with her fingertip.

“Take it before it spills.”

“Wh—Eliza, when—”

“When you were in the bathroom. It’s on me; I can get us a cab.”

Gilbert stared at the label, the pretty oak tree embossed on the paper looking more real to him than most anything had in the past two hundred and seventy nine hours.

He grabbed the bottle and poured himself a glass. It was dry on his tongue. Felt like drinking bark. Meant it was expensive, reserved for people whose tongues and taste buds could appreciate the different nuances of bark. Cedar, specific trees and barrels in southern Italy.

He lowered his glass. The music was piano now. Softer – too even-keeled to feel jazz.

“How’d you know?”

Eliza shrugged, her blazer slipping off one shoulder.

“Saw the key in your wallet when you swiped your train pass. Recognized the logo.”

Her lips quirked up into an empty friend of a smile.

“At least he’s shelling out the big bucks. No way you can afford the Ritz-Carlton on our salary. …Your. Salary. For the next few days, at least.”

Gilbert nodded automatically, pouring himself another glass.

Eliza cocked her head to the side. Like a frizzy-haired bird.

“You caught him cheating.”

A bubble of laughter forced its way out of Gilbert’s tired throat. It colored the wine, made it taste less like bark and more like water.

“No – god. No. Ludwig’s nothing if not loyal.”

Eliza frowned.

“You cheated.”

“No,” Gilbert said flatly, pouring himself another glass.

“He’s a communist.”

“No.”

“Right wing nutjob.”

“No.”

“Wants you to let a dog in on your lovemaking.”

Gilbert grimaced.

“As much as I’m enjoying this game of Horrify Gilbert, your first guess was right.”

Eliza’s eyes flew wide open.

“He cheate—”

“No – no your actual first guess,” Gilbert said, tracing the embossed tree with his fingertip. “I’m not talking about it.”

“As in you don’t want to or can’t or—”

“Everything. Any possible permutation of the story not leaving my head. Can’t, won’t, shouldn’t. Will never. You’re allowed to speculate—”

“Ludwig is actually two goats in a suit.”

“—all you want but I can promise you, you won’t reach an answer.”

Eliza made a frustrated noise and downed a martini in protest. 

“Do you have any idea how aggravating this is.”

“Some,” Gilbert said, sitting back so the waiter could place his food down in front of him. He immediately tore into the French fries, the salt and grease taking away the bite of the wine a little. 

Eliza prodded at her flatbread, rending a mushroom in two.

“…He did hurt you, though,” she said suddenly. “Normal breakups don’t end with one party sleeping at the Ritz while their ex pays for their stuff to be professionally packed and shipped.”

Gilbert paused with a fry halfway to his mouth.

“…How—”

“I stopped by yesterday,” Eliza said, now looking caged. “There was a moving van there. Van as in… a small one. Nothing for furniture, meant he wasn’t leaving. It didn’t click until I saw the card.”

She leaned across the table, her hair almost catching fire as it slid down her forehead. Gilbert ignored her, cutting his duck in half and picking out all the onions. Simple food surgery he could do.

“I won’t press you to talk about it—”

“You’re doing a really shit job of that so far.”

“—but if there’s anything you need—”

“If there’s anything I need, Eliza,” Gilbert interrupted. “I won’t be asking you. Focus on your trial. Get through it, get back to the hospital.” He put a smile on his face and offered her a fry which she sullenly took. “Your patients miss you. And I’m sick of dealing with Jeremy.”

“He is a little bastard isn’t he,” Eliza muttered, the fry hanging between her lips like a cigarette. She let out a heavy sigh and sat back, sullen. “But fine. I won’t pry.” Her eyes narrowed. “But I know you’ll crack someday. Start cursing the guy like I know you cursed me out when we broke up.”

“I’m not going to curse Ludwig,” Gilbert said blandly, stuffing some fries onto his sandwich.

“What – why not?” Eliza demanded. “You practically wrote a new dictionary of obscenities when we split – I know because you threatened to mail me a goddamn copy.”

“Circumstances are different.”

“Oh, what, so if I’d paid for you to live at the Ritz for a month while you got your shit out of my apartment you’dve been a little more gracious?”

“It’s not that—”

“Then what is it?” Eliza snapped, her voice turning wild and violent. “God dammit Gilbert you’ve been like a zombie this week – and I should know because I’ve been one too. We can recognize our own kind – and if he’s not the reason, if you’re not mad at him then just – please, please tell me who to go punch because I need you to snap out of this, I need you to—”

“You need me to what Eliza?” Gilbert said sharply.

The jazz music faltered. He’d raised his voice to her. Attention grabbing. Their neighbors were looking concerned. Fingers on the 9 on their phones, ready to hit eleven after.

In the silence he saw her lip tremble. 

She sat back. Arms folded across her chest. 

The music picked up again, people’s fingers abandoned their phones, grabbed for their silverware.

“I need you.” She scrubbed at her face. “Idiot.”

Gilbert watched her stubbornly cry. Second tears that day. Before Roderich he’d seen her cry drunk lots. Sober three times. Two times that weren’t from being shot in the foot with a nail gun.

“I’m trying, Eliza,” he said finally. He felt the hollowness of the words just as she did. She snorted and muttered, “You won’t even get mad about whatever it was. Which means I can’t get mad – there’s no outlet. Everything’s just. Dead. Dead and quiet and – and it’s too quiet at home. At the hospital – no one will talk to me. I’m a walking corpse to them and I know you’re up a similar creek but at least everyone still treats you like you’ve got a pulse.”

“Practice. I guess,” Gilbert said. “Or apathy.”

Eliza swiped her napkin off the table and blew her nose before sitting back.

“Will you at least tell me what’s different?” she said, her voice thick with snot. “Just tell me why I was immediately demonized and you’re still worshiping the ground this cheating asshole walks on – and don’t tell me he didn’t cheat, that’s what I’m going to assume until you say otherwise and you can’t fucking stop me.”

Gilbert stared at the apple tree on the wine bottle. How much effort went into designing just that tree. Figuring out how much to emboss it. To make it gold, to wrap the words of the brand through its branches.

The tree bled into the paper, its branches sucking up the words as the image blurred more and more. 

Gilbert pulled his wallet out of his pocket. The card slid out as though summoned. The lion’s head logo was roaring silently. 

Two hundred and seventy nine hours ago.

“Because two weeks after we broke up I didn’t still love you. I loathed you, actually,” he said, smudging the lion’s face with his thumb. “Intensely and viciously. But with Ludwig – he’s just a stranger now.”

Gilbert shrugged his shoulders and shoved the card back in his wallet. He picked up his glass of wine and gave Eliza a tight-lipped smile.

“How can you hate a stranger.”

X

Schmidt, Lisa.

It took Gilbert a moment longer to recognize the name. Her voice pinged in his ears. Echoing against the entryway of Ludwig’s irresponsibly-large house. The smell of mulled wine, her hands kneading dough in the kitchen, months-old memories that twisted into the horror he suddenly understood.

He knew Lisa Schmidt. The woman who had welcomed him into her home as Ludwig’s boyfriend. The woman who had raised Ludwig, the only child.

The woman who had adopted his twin.

Gilbert slowly sat back. His head was ringing. Loud, shrill. Like a klaxon in a sci-fi movie. Just as inscrutable. He couldn’t be angry or panicked, just confused and lost, looking vaguely around for an escape pod. Some sort of out, some explanation, loop-hole, plot-hole, anything that would warp the typed letters on the form, changing the voice in his head, the hands in the kitchen into some other Lisa Schmidt. There had to be plenty of them, not exactly an uncommon name, everything else, Ludwig’s childhood home, the hospital he attended, the lack of baby pictures in his parents’ home that showed him before age three.

Explanations had to exist.

Gilbert turned to Ludwig, ready to ask, to merely side-eye the issue until they were absolutely sure it was something to escape-pod from. But his boyfriend wasn’t there. Mentally wasn’t there, his face was twisted into some awful form Gilbert couldn’t recognize.

Without a word Ludwig pushed himself out of his seat, the chair clattering against the scuffed hardwood floor.

Gilbert couldn’t follow. 

“Mr. –! Doctor, what’s his name? Your boyfriend? He can’t… he can’t walk around the halfway house unsupervised…”

The girl across the desk – Nikki, Gilbert fleetingly remembered – stared pleadingly at Gilbert. Her curls were no longer bouncing.

Gilbert ran his finger over the eleven letters on the adoption forms. Lisa Schmidt. The philanthropist Lisa Schmidt. Who maybe did live in a sprawling mansion at the base of an avalanche-happy mountain. With her husband and secretly-adopted son.

“Doctor?”

“Hm?”

Gilbert glanced up automatically from the papers. He could still feel the ink raised underneath the fleshy part of his fingertip.

Nikki offered him a confused smile.

“Your, um… your boyfriend seems to consider the meeting finished? I just heard the front door, ah… close…” She fiddled with her green glasses. “Was it… something I said? Is he adopted too? Er – just… just adopted, since… since you… weren’t…”

She hunched in on herself, mumbling ‘stupid’ under the breath. Gilbert took the charitable road and assumed she wasn’t talking about him.

Gilbert felt the letters under his fingertip.

“Maybe. I don’t –”

He stood, his body moving as though driven by some horrible predestination impulse.

“I need to go.”

“A-All right – oh, Doctor you can’t – that adoption file has to stay here,” Nikki said, a bit frantic as she reached for the papers. Gilbert held them possessively against his chest, both scared and relieved that if he let go the letters would evaporate. Removing even speculation.

But Ludwig had seen. There was an eyewitness there. Unreliable but still permissible. Real. Didn’t matter if the papers vanished or were shredded or burned. Bit too late for any of that.

Gilbert unclamped his fingers from around the papers. Set them on the desk.

Nikki gave him a relieved smile and then said awkwardly, “Are – is our meeting – do you need—”

She gave up after the third stalled attempt when Gilbert didn’t make any move to help her. She sat back down and gave him a confused smile.

“I’ll be here if you or… your boyfriend, have any—”

“Ludwig Schmidt.”

Nikki blinked her large eyes.

“Pardon?”

“His name.”

“Oh.” 

Nikki cleared her throat.

“If you or Mr. Schmidt have any further questions, the office is open until five today.” She pushed a manila envelope towards Gilbert, her smile a bit more relaxed. “Here’s the information that was in your records. St. Joseph’s might have more, like I said, although it would probably be mostly medical…”

“I know my medical condition.”

Gilbert took the papers and turned, remembering at the last instant to give Nikki a little nod and a quiet, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome!” she said, grinning widely. Quick bouncer-back.

He turned and walked out of the room. Back down the nostalgic hallways, their antique plaster walls, subtle signs of water damage peeking around the crown molding at the top.

He heard Ludwig’s voice as he approached the threshold. Loud, panicked. Angry enough that the children in the play yard next to the halfway house had stopped yelling and were waiting. Tense. Most of them were too familiar with angry voices to make the mistake of moving while one was in range.

Gilbert stopped at the top of the steps, watching his boyfriend pace beyond the iron-wrought gate. His phone was pressed against his ear, so hard it looked like he was trying to absorb it into his skull.

“—don’t want some kind of round-about cop-out, just tell me! It doesn’t matter – I just did. So now you have to—”

He suddenly froze, staring off into the distance. At the bodega down the street, maybe. The homeless girl fixing her cardboard seat. Her dog resting its terrifyingly large skull on two, crossed paws.

Slowly Ludwig raised his hand to his face. Closed his eyes. Hunched his shoulders.

“Oh.”

Broke his voice.

The children started playing again, and Gilbert carefully picked his way down the steps. Cracked, chipped. Moss growing between the stones, all he could see were the details, the faults. 

“Okay – no, you don’t need to tell Dad. I’m fine.”

Ludwig’s voice was barely a whisper.

Gilbert stopped on the other side of the gate. Close enough that he could see Ludwig’s shoulders shaking. Fingers twitching reflexively. Over stimulation, shock.

Ludwig swallowed, his eyes darting to the side, staring through the iron bars at Gilbert.

“No, I’m not alone. Yeah, Gilbert’s – …Okay. No, I’ll tell him. …I don’t know, Mom, in a few weeks. I’ll see if I can get time off—we don’t need to have a family meeting. It’s fine. I’m hanging up – Mom, I need to go. …You don’t need to apologize. It’s not – fine. If I accept, will you – okay. Good bye. Love you too.”

He lowered his phone. Gilbert took that as an acceptance of his presence. He took a few steps forward, slipping out of the gate, onto the street.

“Your mom?”

Ludwig nodded. Didn’t meet his eyes.

Gilbert bit his lip.

“…Lisa Schmidt?”

Ludwig hesitated. So long that he needn’t have answered. But still he nodded, slow and deliberate. Man on the gallows, facing the wheel. Realizing it might be too late for a good death.

Gilbert felt a sickening bile rise in his throat. Not for him; his memories of Lisa Schmidt were confined to dough in the kitchen, mulled wine, a few awkward hugs.

But now for Ludwig, there was a fissure that ran through every portrait hung in his family home. Cracked glass, missing years, gentle fabrications and velvet curtains. 

Gilbert took a cautious step forward, not sure if he even wanted to try and press a Bandaid to the wound yet. Ludwig was trembling. Gilbert reached out, gently touched the back of his hand, managing not to flinch when Ludwig pulled away.

He stepped back. Tried again, words this time since hands were apparently too much.

“… Ludwig, I’m so—”

“Apologies aren’t necessary.”

Gilbert fell silent. So much for words.

Ludwig slid his phone into his pocket. Tried to straighten his back, but it was hunched and crooked like a Hugonian protagonist’s. He glanced towards Gilbert, gaze landing somewhere around his collarbone.

“Did you get your file.”

“What — oh.” Gilbert held up his file and then clutched it against his chest when Ludwig nodded.

“That’s good at least,” Ludwig murmured, turning on his heel to walk back down the street. “That’s good.”

“Yeah, it’s… it’s what I came for, so…” Gilbert followed a few steps behind Ludwig. A girl poked her hand out between the bars, waving goodbye at them. Gilbert waved back, glad when the girl smiled. Something to match the sunny street.

The halfway house disappeared behind them. Gilbert pulled the documents out of the folder, leafing through them as they walked. Nothing new, not really. He’d had a feeling, when he was young, that something was off. His friends had been adopted rather quickly, and he’d had a lot of friends. Mostly because he kept having to make new ones since they all got adopted so fucking quickly. But he’d only seen a family once every three months or so. And only when he was out of the hospital. Never a second visit. And he was in the hospital a lot…

Gilbert temporarily stowed the papers as they reached the parking garage. He chatted up the valet while another ran off to get the car. Ludwig was messing with his phone, email or whatever else he did when he needed to shut off reality for a few minutes. Gilbert flirted with oblivious middle-aged men, Ludwig answered government emails. Things were fine.

The car came trundling down the ramp. Ludwig tipped the man, got in, buckled his seatbelt. Gilbert slid into the passenger’s seat, pulling out the files once the GPS started talking. It was probably the only conversation Ludwig wanted. Gilbert wasn’t sure if he could handle talking.

Lisa Schmidt.

Gilbert pushed the name out of his mind, and the truth it contained along with it. Wasn’t his topic to slice open and examine. He had other things to dissect.

Buried under some of the papers in the envelope was a half-sheet form. Gilbert fished it out, read it carefully. The director of the halfway house had signed off on some kind of experimental treatment. Gilbert had vague memories of the surgeries. Eyes burning. Terror and needles, it was a drug-trip from a Kubrick film. Didn’t seem to have done much good for him, but the zeros on the page said compensation for the halfway house. Medical studies. The director had acted as his guardian.

Gilbert clicked his tongue in irritation, trying not to get too mad.

“Seems like they really did keep my existence on the down low,” he muttered. “To everyone but the hospital staff, at least. Looks like maybe a dozen… slightly less than a dozen paid studies they had me in as a kid. Albino cash cow. Really didn’t see that one coming.”

He shoved the papers back inside the envelope and tossed it in the backseat. There was traffic, the roads were twisty and he’d given up trying not to get mad and was silently furious. Most irrationally because a perverse part of him wondered if he’d picked his career based on a handful of impressions buried away in the deep cracks in his brain. Maybe some doctor had been nice to him; maybe he’d garnered a predilection for hanging around terminal kids and sterilized rooms during his hazy, formative years.

“What are you talking about.”

Ludwig’s quiet voice somehow had force enough to make Gilbert start. He stared warily at his boyfriend out of the corner of his eye. Hands at ten and two. Knuckles white.

“The halfway house director had me enrolled in a bunch of medical studies, looks like,” Gilbert said, staring out the windshield at a limo careening down the street. “The halfway house got compensated. Probably why your parents didn’t even know I existed until—”

“Stop.”

Gilbert felt the razor of the word press against his throat. He swallowed anyway.

“…Well one of us had to mention it,” he muttered.

He heard the steering wheel creak.

“Not now.”

“C’mon, Ludwig, there’s no better time to face your secret orphan past than while operating heavy machinery,” Gilbert said. “At least you got adopted. Not like people remember much from before age… what was it, four or whatever.”

Ludwig’s gaze flickered, catching Gilbert’s with a quiet, terrified fury.

“What.”

Gilbert gestured vaguely, sinking lower in his seat.

“You got the best possible outcome. Adopted before you can remember. It’s shocking, yes, and I feel for you, but—”

“Why are you acting like this doesn’t concern you.”

Gilbert glanced over at Ludwig. His boyfriend was staring through the windshield again. Eyes unblinking even in the harsh afternoon sun. He was going to give himself eye cancer.

Gilbert rummaged around in the glove compartment.

“Put your sunglasses on.”

“Answer the question, Gilbert.”

“I will, just – Ludwig, you’re going to hurt your eyes—”

“I don’t give a fuck about my eyes, Gilbert!”

Gilbert made a grab for the door handle as the car swerved, the right front wheel grazing the median.

“What the fuck Ludwig, pull over!” he snapped.

Without a word Ludwig made a sharp, banking turn into the nearest parking lot. The car stopped in the middle of the aisle. Screech of tires, emergency brake. Engine still running. Gilbert slowly released his death grip on the door, his hand shaking. His heart was still racing, so loudly he could hear it.

“G-God… god dammit, that was scary,” he mumbled, watching his fingers tremble as though they belonged to someone else. He glanced out the window at the parking lot. No empty spots, no one else in sight, no attendant, automated machine. Mirages rippled over the blacktop. Early spring heatwave. 

He saw Ludwig press his face against the steering wheel, skin pallid, clammy. 

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

Stated evenly.

“Yeah no shit – I think I left my lunch back on the meridian,” Gilbert muttered, scrubbing at his face.

“What the hell is wrong with you.”

Gilbert stared at Ludwig across the console. All he could see of Ludwig’s face was one blue eye, the side of his nose, half his thin lips.

Gilbert struggled to keep his temper in check.

“I dunno, Ludwig. Maybe that I found out today the halfway house I trusted apparently didn’t do their job properly. Which is putting it really fucking mildly considering it seems like they kept me hospitalized for a hell of a lot longer than was necessary. That and my boyfriend just drove across three lanes of traffic when they’re was a perfectly good spot ri—”

“You’re mad about not getting adopted? That’s what this is?”

Gilbert bristled, meeting Ludwig eyes for a long moment before the other man looked away.

“…Yeah, I’m mad about not getting adopted,” Gilbert said. “I’m fucking pissed – I always felt like something was weird and now that I have proof – it’s a fucking struggle to remind myself that that ship has sailed. No point in getting worked up about it now.”

“God – why are you choosing that to fixate on?!”

“Because it’s pretty much what I spent my whole life wondering, Ludwig. Sorry for—”

“We’re brothers!”

Ludwig’s hand was pressed against his face. His teeth were bared, grinding together as he fought back whatever was clawing at his throat. Exhaustion. Bile, maybe. The noise was making the hairs on Gilbert’s arm stand up.

“…We don’t know that for sure.”

“So you’re saying your twin just happened to be adopted by someone else named Lisa Schmidt who is a major donor to the hospital you lived in for the first six years of your life,” Ludwig muttered, not moving his hand.

Gilbert slowly leaned against the window, pressing his forehead against the glass.

“Still trying to get over the whole having a sibling in general, thing,” he said quietly. “Not really ready to put a name to them just yet.”

The car fell silent. The water puddles on the other side of the doors flickered in and out of existence. Tricks of the light.

“What are we going to do.”

Gilbert looked over his shoulder. Ludwig hadn’t moved. Somehow his voice sounded a lot farther away.

“Do – I dunno.”

Gilbert tugged at a loose thread in his jeans.

“You can ask your parents stuff… like. Did they really have no idea you had a brother when they adopted you? That just seems—”

“I can’t tell them about you. Are you kidding.”

Gilbert glanced at Ludwig again, unsure.

“…Why not?”

“Why not – do you seriously not get it?”

Ludwig was sitting up straight again. He was staring helplessly at the lying puddles beyond the glass.

“We can’t let anyone know – we’ll have to come up with something, some excuse…”

“…Well yeah, we probably shouldn’t tell them that I’m… who I am,” Gilbert said slowly. “But you can still ask them—”

“They’re not stupid, Gilbert, they apparently know I had – have… they’ll figure it out sooner or later,” Ludwig said, his fingertips tapping against the steering wheel in restless agitation. 

Gilbert blinked, not really able to follow the logic thread down whatever hole Ludwig was intent on spelunking. 

“We don’t even know for sure… I mean we could probably get a DNA test, or—”

“I don’t want to know, Gilbert!” Ludwig snapped, his voice cracking. “Do you?! Do you really want incontrovertible proof that—”

“That what, I have a brother? Who I happen to have been fucking for the past eight months of my life?” Gilbert said, turning to face Ludwig properly. “I’m not an idiot, Ludwig, I know this – it’s not ideal—”

“Not ideal – Jesus fucking Christ are you insane?”

“—but it’s not like I knew you – we weren’t raised together, we can’t exactly have kids! There’s no way anyone else would find out. And you’re right, if we don’t get a DNA test then—”

“We’ll still know.”

Gilbert faltered at that. Ludwig looked calm, for the moment. His eyes were pale when they fixed on Gilbert’s face. He shrugged his broad shoulders. They barely moved. Too much dead weight.

“I’ll still know.”

Gilbert slowly sat back, hearing an outcome in those words he was afraid to look at directly.

“…But – Ludwig, it’s just… it’s just a weird… unfortunate fact,” he said quietly. “It doesn’t matter that much to me. I don’t need to find out more. I really don’t – the stuff with the hospital is so much worse to me than—”

“I’ll still care.”

Ludwig clasped a hand to his eyes, the cracks between his fingers not quite dark enough to hide the salt gathering on his cheeks.

“And so should you.”

X

Gilbert stepped out of the shower, fumbling about until his hand landed on a towel. He brought it to his face, inhaling the subtle scent of rose and bleach left in the threads. He stayed like that for a few minutes, dripping onto the tile floor.

The timer for the heated floor suddenly clicked off. An hour and a half.

Gilbert let the towel drop on the floor and walked out into the bedroom, a cloud of steam following him. He tugged on his pajamas, staring at the ones in the closet. They were pinstripe, the hotel’s logo emblazoned on the pocket. How much would they charge Ludwig’s card if he stole them. The mini fridge had already been emptied twice. There were five or six homeless people a few streets away sleeping on hotel pillows stuffed with cans of cocktail peanuts and bottles of designer seltzer water. 

Gilbert flicked the light switch and lay back on the bed, staring up at the flickering ceiling. He hadn’t turned the television off. It kept playing the same on-demand movie over and over again. About climbers on Everest. The British narration was soothing. Even if the topic was macabre.

The staff had come in and replaced all the linens again. The bed was warm and soft, and Gilbert lay still under the sheets, watching shapes move on the ceiling, listening to the soothing British narration.

::In an interview much later, when asked about his summiting, the novelist said rather bleakly, ‘I wish I’d never gone.’ There is a particular forlorn bitterness that permeates the words of many seasoned climbers – and indeed Hillary himself succumbed to such emotion when he made note of the ruthlessness that has invaded climber culture, the willingness to leave a man to die, pinned under a rock. Manifest in those lynchpin moments, where the selfishness inherent in the sport rears its ugly head, they no longer climb for pleasure. They climb for self-survival alone.::

Gilbert blinked his scratchy eyes and stared at the clock. Three five two. His train left in an hour and fifteen minutes. He wasn’t sure if he’d slept. His head was fuzzy like his eyes, blending the minutes together without a proper conscious unconsciousness to demarcate them into their proper lengths.

The narration droned on. The blue lighting on the ceiling. Pinstripe pajamas hanging in the closet like a ghost. It hadn’t felt like four hours. 

::–nned under a rock. Manifest in those lynchpin moments, where the selfishness inherent in the sport rears its ugly head, they no longer climb for pl—::

The remote shattered when it hit the cabinet, inches away from the television. 

One of the batteries rolled, rolled across the plush green floor, gently bumping against the bed frame. 

Gilbert’s hand found his chest, his eyes. His fingernails tore at the pillow as he pressed it against his face, hoping with a detached, frantic desperation that his brain would sense the danger of suffocation and compromise with sleep instead.

The pillowcase grew wet around his mouth and eyes. His breath humid, jungle and painful to inhale.

::–nned under a rock. Manifest in those lynchpin moments, where the selfishness inherent in the sport rears its ugly head, the—::

“Fuck – fuck you, fucking shut up!”

The pillow was gone. It lay next to the shattered remote on the floor. The clock read four four six. 

With a sudden furious energy Gilbert wrenched himself out of bed. He tugged on his scrubs, the same ones he wore yesterday. They smelled like grease and candle smoke.

He left just as the phone rang, shoving the decomposing keycard into his pocket. The ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign swung violently behind him as the door clicked softly shut.

X

The keycard lay there on the table, lion’s head roaring silently.

Gilbert stared at it. The shiny plastic reflected the soft cam lighting of Ludwig’s kitchen.

“I called my mom back. Finally.”

Gilbert lifted his head. Across the table Ludwig sat, his large hand wrapped tightly around a glass of whiskey. The ice cubes were slowly melting from the heat of Ludwig’s palm.

“Did you tell her?”

Ludwig shook his head. His throat bobbed when he swallowed.

“We’re meeting on Sunday to talk. Brunch. The meal of unpleasant relationship breakups and… and adoption confessions. I guess.”

Gilbert felt his lips twitch.

“I take it I’m not welcome at this little family gathering.”

The ice cubes clinked in Ludwig’s glass.

“That’s not funny.”

“I’m willing to pretend it is.”

Gilbert jumped slightly as Ludwig’s fist slammed on the table. Thankfully it was the fist without the glass.

“You need to stop.”

Ludwig’s voice couldn’t match his body. It was tired. Wrapped in the blanket neatly folded over the arm of the leather couch in the white living room.

“Ever since we found out you’ve been nothing but glib—”

“Flippant, actually, is more what I’ve been going for.” 

Ludwig’s fingers twitched.

Gilbert looked away. The earpieces of his glasses were squeezing his head. They were new. Ludwig had helped him pick them out. 

“Glib’s a fucking stupid word,” Gilbert muttered.

“…Pick whatever adjective you’d like, Gilbert. I’m in no mood to play thesaurus,” Ludwig said. “I’ve tried talking – I feel like I’m going crazy from the talking. And you still can’t connect. You just can’t – get it. And I should have realized from the start you’d lack the capacity. You never had a family. This is just – it’s just a piece of trivia to you.”

Gilbert felt his eyes start to sting. He blinked once, keeping everything contained behind the thick lenses.

“I understand that brothers shouldn’t be fucking, Ludwig,” he said mildly, staring out into the garden. “But as you so helpfully screeched at me last night, I’m not really your brother, so I don’t see what the problem is.”

“That’s not what I s—”

“’You don’t understand siblings, Gilbert, you couldn’t possibly,’” Gilbert parroted, not taking his eyes off the crab apple tree. “You don’t have the capacity to be a brother or to be a member of any family outside of you and your egotistical personalities you have shoved in your brain and you making jokes isn’t helping.’”

He flicked his fingernail against the glass, the gentle ping reverberating sweetly.

“A decent impression. If I do say so myself. Me of little empathetic capacity.”

“I said you lack empathy in this one situation – empathy might – it’s not a good word choice,” Ludwig said, some of the fight leaving him in a horrible, exhausted breath. “And I never meant to imply you were… schizophrenic. Or have any mental illness. That was very stigmatizing of me—”

“Save the politician hedging,” Gilbert said, resting his head on the table and closing his eyes. “I’m too tired to pick through your word salad right now.”

He heard Ludwig move in his chair, the motion sharply aborted. The chair returned to the deep grooves in the kitchen that marked its foot rests. If Ludwig spent a few more hours in the chair it would probably lose its ability to move at all. Become rooted to the floor. Regress into a tree – oak, that’s probably what it was originally. An oak in a forest.

“…You can come if you want.”

Gilbert lifted his head, fixing Ludwig with a tired, confused stare. Ludwig met his eyes. He shrugged and said again, “You can come if you want.”

“Where?”

“Brunch.”

Gilbert rested his cheek back on the table.

“With your parents.”

“They still don’t know,” Ludwig said softly. “My mom asked… she was hoping I had a good support system. They’ll probably be expecting you there, honestly. With how serious we – we have being appearing to be. They might start to suspect –”

“Just say ‘were,’ Ludwig,” Gilbert said, his voice muffled by the table. “How serious we were. Since you’re not willing to continue this—”

“And you shouldn’t be either.”

Gilbert felt his shoulders spasm reflexively. He’d been so tense. Ever since the drive home from the halfway house, when he’d been in shock and Ludwig had been quiet and terribly still. Until whatever it was that was keeping him penned in and controlled burst and he’d pulled the car over and pressed his hands against his face and trembled so violently Gilbert was sure his bones were going to turn to earthquake dust. He’d tried to comfort, first with touch, then without when that was violently rejected. 

They hadn’t touched since. Not even an accidental bumping of the shoulders. Ludwig had written himself a three foot restraining order and was going to obey it or cut off any limb that even accidentally committed an infraction. 

Gilbert lifted his head slightly and moved his fingers across the table. Ludwig leaned back the corresponding amount. Maybe if he licked his hand Ludwig would freak so badly he’d cut the whole thing off.

Gilbert moved his hand forward again, and Ludwig said a warning, “Gilbert.”

“I don’t have leprosy, Ludwig,” Gilbert muttered, stilling his hand.

“Maybe pretending I do would grant you the mental fortitude to stop trying to touch me,” Ludwig said, his voice clipped. “This isn’t some huge favor I’ve asked of you –”

Gilbert sat up sharply, his muscles possessed by a sudden spat of anger.

“Really. Not a huge favor?” he said. “Not a huge favor when we’ve been sleeping together for eight months now. When we’ve been living together and – we fucked on our first date, Ludwig, you can’t just – will that kind of reaction to go away, it’s not that easy—”

“It was for me.”

Gilbert pressed his lips together, a furious, heart-broken gallstone lodging in his throat.

Ludwig watched him, his pale, blue eyes disinterested. As though observing a sedated viper from behind a thick, glass pane.

“Like I said. This is trivia to you, apparently. You want to hide it under the floorboards or in the wall and I can’t – I just. Can’t see you like you want me to anymore.”

“We’re the only two people alive who know,” Gilbert said, trying again although he could practically see his words hitting the thick, glass pane. “It’s not like our birth mother is going to suddenly come bursting through the door screaming for the whole neighborhood to hear about how she can’t believe her darling twins are fucking.”

“Were.”

Gilbert fell silent again. Ludwig stood, downing the rest of his liquor.

“You wanted me to say it.”

“…I did,” Gilbert said, staring at the abandoned chair. It was growing into a tree in front of his eyes. “For some reason I did.”

Ice clinked as it tumbled into a glass.

“Do you feel better?”

Gilbert stared at the leaves on the oak tree. Brown like the stain on the floor. Maybe that should have been upsetting. As upsetting as were, as upsetting as the gentle thud of the decanter meeting the countertop for the fifth time that day.

Gilbert picked up the card with the lion’s head. He stood.

“I’m going to go.”

The decanter met the countertop again.

“The room’s charged to my card. You can stay there as long as you need to get back on your feet.”

“Should be just as soon as you stop stepping on my chest. Makes it a little difficult to stand.”

Ludwig’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, his fingers gently tipping the glass against his lips. He didn’t respond.

Gilbert stopped in the doorway. He could feel the lion eating his palm as the corners of the keycard cut into his skin. 

“You know – you know I thought about it. And I think I’m going to have to pass on brunch,” he said suddenly, wanting to be mean and bellicose. “Maybe you can ask for me why they only adopted the healthy kid. See you around, Ludwig.”

Gilbert turned and walked down the hall, stopping only to pick up his two bags by the door. Still in good shape for having been thrown down the steps the night before. All they had in them was scrubs and his toothbrush. His computer was already in the car. He’d wanted to break it but knew he’d regret it so he’d stashed it in his car before the yelling had started.

Halfway to the hotel he pulled into a fast food parking lot, put on the emergency brake, and pressed the lion to his face. 

Ludwig was right. He was right he was right he didn’t know, he didn’t understand.

Gilbert’s arm wrapped around his ribs, hugging himself as tightly as he could. Holding everything in place before his spine ruptured, dragged out his organs to make the physical match the emotional. Bring everything into balance.

“Oh – oh g-god.”

He stifled his sobs against the smooth plastic of the lion. Behind him car after car slowly pulled out of the drive through, drinks and fries and grease balanced carefully in the laps of the drivers. 

Ludwig had cried. Soft and hidden, heartbroken. The only evidence had been his red eyes and the few words caught in the air vents. They were words of disgust, revulsion, family. Self-flagellation and blame. Gilbert listened to them, tried to find their resonance but Ludwig was right. He didn’t understand. There was shock there and heartbreak, but it was the same he’d felt as a child sleeping on the top bunk in a room full of bunk beds. Scribbling his name on everything he could before it was taken away, given to someone else. Pretending he owned things because no one owned him, no one owned him so he wasn’t allowed to own anything.

Why hadn’t he been claimed.

And that was the part Ludwig didn’t seem to understand. He was so hung up on the taboo and the shame he couldn’t care about any eruption of grief twenty years suppressed. Bubbling up to mingle with the loss of another home. Another someone he’d thought he’d belonged to. Maybe permanently.

Not sure why he’d been given up again. Just over an unfortunate genetic coincidence. It didn’t really make any sense but telling Ludwig that calmly or hysterically or logically or any other method of word delivery hadn’t made the slightest fucking bit of difference.

To even try and follow the thread of the other’s logic required the sort of mental leap reserved for ethics philosophers and maniacs. The empathy wasn’t there for either of them.

Gilbert still felt like he got the rawer deal.

He let out a slow breath and slowly sat back, his skull coming to touch gently against the headrest.

His eyes were tired. Somehow his whole skull was tired. It felt heavy.

“Okay.”

“It’s okay. I’m okay.”

He scrubbed at his face.

“I’m okay. It’s okay, everything’s – it’s fine. Talking to myself in a parking lot. Still okay. I’ve earned a weird moment I’m going to take it. It’s fine. It’s fine, I’m fine. I’m okay.”

He hiccupped as he swallowed another sob and quickly looked for something to distract himself with. The ten year old in his head was starting to scream again. His screams were black and really fucking annoying and hard to keep out. Easier when he could just yell a bunch at Ludwig and get dramatic and pretend like he was reading a script. Much, much harder when he was crying by himself in a parking lot and suddenly everything was real and terrifying and screaming and black and okay okay cell phone cell phone game.

Gilbert scrambled for his phone, booting up the first game he had. Solitaire. Not the most mind-numbing of things but good enough.

He slowly dragged the miniscule cards across the screen, watching them bounce happily into place. 

Stuck.

He started up a new game. Dragging cards one by one.

Stuck.

The drive through line behind him was getting shorter and shorter. The fast food lights flicked on at some point. Neon sign above the doors. Pitch black a few centimeters outside of the neon glow. Different cars, louder voices, the smell of stale beer and irresponsibility. 

Gilbert jumped slightly when his phone beeped. Critically low battery.

He slowly lowered his phone and stared through the cars behind him in his rearview mirror.

He should eat.

It took a detaching, his brain from his movements, just to unbuckle his seatbelt. Playing a part, the part of the normal guy who had a house, a job. Single, maybe, didn’t matter. Getting food. A kid’s meal. Maybe he had a kid. No kid with him. Maybe getting two kid’s meals. To take home. Smile at the overworked teenager behind the counter, let coins fall into the tip jar. Balance the food carefully on the passenger seat, find the lion card, drive to the address. Different counter, different face. Older, posher, not as willing to overlook his rumpled sweatshirt and disheveled hair and bags of fast food stuffed under his arm. Then his sweatshirt zipper slipped, his nametag showed, hospital logo, and everything was different. His card returned to him had the title Doctor, the bagboy told a story of a sick sister treated at the hospital, no tip, he’d bring the things up gratis. Highest room, quiet, clean. No actual lions, disappointing.

The bellboy gave a little bow and left. Gilbert was glad he’d fought the urge to offer him the second kid’s meal. Probably would have stained the nice uniform.

He fished the keycard out of his pocket. He ran his fingernail over the plastic of the lion’s eyes. It bubbled under the pressure.

Gilbert sat down on the floor. Ran his fingernail over the card again. Splintering. Again. Cracking. Again fracture Again blinded, blind lion. The plastic peeled, the card was matte underneath and the lion’s eyes bled when they met liquid.

It was time for work.

Gilbert pushed himself up, grabbed his bag, and left. The keycard was on the floor but it was okay. They knew him. The Doctor, staying by himself in a penthouse registered to a name that wasn’t his own. Not his first name.

Not even his last.

X

“There’s a message for you, Doctor.”

Gilbert screeched to a halt by the front desk, the movement so abrupt that his bag hit him in the ass. He sidled up to the counter, ignoring the sting.

“Marie, Marie my darling, favorite receptionist. I told you to dispense with the love letters already. Quite frankly you’re starting to embarrass yourself.”

Marie fake-primped and fake-flustered like she’d done every day for the past two weeks and Gilbert fake laughed and stole a handful of mints out of the glass jar.

A package appeared on the table, small, about half the size of a shoebox. Gilbert raised an eyebrow.

“Moving on to the presents phase, are we, Marie? Don’t you think it’s a little soon?”

“This was left for you at the front desk, along with this note, Doctor,” Marie said, waggling her eyebrows back. She set the letter atop the box, her perfectly-manicured nails grazing the eggshell surface of the paper.

Gilbert recognized the seal in the bottom right corner. There was no name on the envelope. Didn’t need one.

“…When was this dropped off.”

Marie’s pleasant smile faltered a bit. Gilbert couldn’t feel guilty for the change in tone.

“It – this morning, around 8,” she said, her eyebrows knitting in concern. They were too thin to manage the expression properly. She just looked angry.

“By whom.”

“I… I’m not sure, Sierra accepted it.” Marie lowered her voice. “Doctor – Doctor, are we in danger? Do I need to call—”

“No, no, nothing like that,” Gilbert said immediately, plastering the smile back on his face. “Just ex-boyfriend issues. …Which I’m aware also may sound – he isn’t homicidal. I’ll just take this.”

He grabbed the box and hurried away before Marie did something responsible like call the cops. The elevator attendant tipped her hat at him as he entered the tiny box, but thankfully remained quiet on the way up. Sometimes she liked to chat, but trained in the service industry as she was, she had no doubt picked up valuable skills like when to not bother guests who were visibly fighting back either bile or tears.

The doors opened onto his floor and Gilbert hurried out, the box weighing more and more with each step. He fumbled with the keycard, managing to shove the splintering plastic in the fancy gold slot after several tries. His room was immaculate – he must have forgotten to hang the DO NOT DISTURB sign on the door. Either that or the cleaning staff had the same problem he’d had the first day and couldn’t read the fancy fucking script. Why so many embellishments just for a goddamn do not disturb sign.

Gilbert yanked a chair away from the wall and sat down, placing the box on the small table in front of him. He set the letter aside. Contents first. He had an idea of what the letter would say. No clue about the box. 

Brown cardboard, nondescript. Lightweight. Whatever was inside had been wrapped carefully.

Gilbert fished out his pocket knife and carefully cut the tape holding the lid on. With his fingernail he inched up the cardboard, peering inside.

He shouldn’t look.

He should burn it. But it wouldn’t feel very vindictive unless he did it in public. In extra public where Ludwig could see. In front of the embassy – he’d be arrested for sure. In the middle of Ludwig’s favorite grocery store – it could be an excuse to go there again. Pick up that kind of popcorn that only that grocery store seemed to sell he couldn’t find it anywhere else in the entire goddamn city. In front of Ludwig’s house, maybe, but the thought of going back there made Gilbert sick and shaky like a child bracing themselves to glance underneath the bed at stormy midnight.

He couldn’t just throw it away. It wasn’t dramatic enough. It was either burning, looking, or letting it fester on the table until he gave in to option A or B.

His fingernail was starting to hurt.

With a rush of impulsivity Gilbert forced himself to lift the lid. Bubble wrap. The big kind, not even fun to pop.

It was taped around whatever it was protecting. Gilbert had to scrape the cellophane away. Not an easy day for his fingernails they were really getting a workout.

And his hands were shaking.

Gilbert let out a slow breath, gearing up for whatever it could possibly be. Some sort of soothing thing. Conciliatory gift. Maybe the first of many, the start of contact reinitiated. A candle. Ludwig knew he liked candles. Chocolate, maybe. Migraine meds. A Tamagochi. Ludwig had teased him about getting one to work up to having a real pet. Gilbert would be tempted to let it die out of spite but eventually maybe when this was all just a story from when he was thirty and life had been unnecessarily cruel to him he’d let it live and grow.

The spool of bubble wrap unfurled like an ugly, plastic flower, and a worn cell phone charger clattered onto the table.

Gilbert stared at the black thing, curled up like a snake on the wooden surface. The bubble wrap lay unwound, exposed and transparent. 

Empty.

Gilbert slowly sat back in his chair. 

Honestly he would have preferred a bomb. Something small, personal. Or a poison dart. Or an actual snake, not just a dumb fucking look-alike. That wouldn’t leave as much of a mess for the poor cleaning staff. Doubtful it would be the first time they’d found someone like him. Didn’t mean it’d be easy.

He prodded at the charger just to give it a bit of life. Pretend it could physically bite, poison. Some explanation for why his lungs were seizing again, his heart was drafting its resignation letter. What was the point in circulating oxygen through a zombie. It knew when it was obsolete.

The letter.

Gilbert forced himself to uncurl from the uncomfortable position he’d taken in the chair. The sun had set. Probably. Could’ve exploded. Imploded, whatever it was supposed to do after it ran out of fuel.

He flicked on a light and grabbed the letter, tearing a strip off the short edge to fish the paper out.

It was typed. Not on the letterhead the matched the envelope, the stuff Ludwig kept in the nice roll-top desk in his study. This was printer paper. Times New Roman. 12 pt.

Doctor Weillschmidt,

You forgot your cell phone charger. I apologize for not getting it to you sooner.

Best,

Ludwig Schmidt

Gilbert set the piece of paper on the table. The fold lines broke the plane into even thirds. The words barely took up the top portion. The rest was blank. Perfect. No wrinkles, watermarks, coffee stains. Nothing that showed that anything alive had ever touched it.

Gilbert quickly jerked back as a tear rolled down his cheek. It splattered against the table, centimeters away from the immaculate piece of paper. He quickly folded it back up, stuffed it inside its envelope before he could ruin it. He sat there trembling, cold, not caring that frost was growing on the tips of his fingers and clumping his eyelashes together.

That was it, then.

His things were in storage. His things minus the cell phone charger he’d thought was buried in a suitcase somewhere. They were waiting for him; their absence pressed his nose into the newspaper classifieds, whispered rent prices, neighborhoods, commute times in his ears. They were in limbo. Couldn’t stay there forever, that wasn’t how limbo worked.

That was it.

Gilbert pushed himself carefully out of the chair. His limbs felt wooden. Pinned with corroded iron, he was scared to move too quickly. 

He retrieved his phone from inside his briefcase. Plugged it into the wall, the teal cable he’d bought at the drug store down the street was easy to see in the dark.

He couldn’t stay here. Not in this purgatory where every day he’d hope Marie would smile at him, another cardboard box on the marble counter, this one different, this one heavy and full of things to be dissected, new possibilities to weave and let hang uselessly on the wall like abandoned webs. He could grow old here, locked inside the room until the translucent threads wound themselves so tightly around him he’d never leave. Waiting for the next box, letter, call, for him to show up he knew where he lived it was always possible the name on the bill was his, on the keycard. Any second now a knock on the door, a phone ringing. Contact contact contact somehow, some sign, some spider’s thread of hope.

They were already braiding themselves into a noose.

Gilbert felt a dull relief that he recoiled in horror at the thought. He still wanted to struggle against the threads, at least. Against possibilities. Waiting. Grudgingly, reluctantly but maybe it was enough.

Gilbert dialed her number, shaking the cold and damp out of his fingertips.

It rang for a long time.

/Why are you calling at two in the morning./

Her voice snapped a few of the threads.

“Hello to you too, Eliza.”

He scrubbed at his eyes, the skin sticky and swollen. His fingers grew wet again, and it was clear that she could hear the moisture from how her words lost their edges.

/Do you need me to come over?/

Gilbert shook his head.

“No – no it’s so late.”

/I will gladly stroll into the Ritz at any hour of the day or night. I’ve seen that lobby. Unnecessarily numerous bowls of candy just lying around. You need me and I’m there. No promises I’ll make it out of the lobby proper, though./

“Your greed is very endearing,” Gilbert mumbled, staring at the letter again. “But that’s not why I called.”

/Oh./

“Sorry.”

/It’s fine. I’ll just run to the corner store and get some chocolate or something./

Gilbert couldn’t dredge up a courtesy laugh. Eliza didn’t seem to mind.

/So what’d he do./

“He returned my cell charger.”

A pause.

/What a monster./

“The first bit of contact in two weeks and he – it was a box with just my charger in it and a note with two sentences apologizing he hadn’t gotten it back to me faster.”

Gilbert heard the hysteria in his voice, realized how ridiculous it sounded out of context and he silently begged Eliza to let it go unmocked.

/Ah… oh, Gil, that… that’s awful./

Gilbert laughed, the noise messy and disgusting from tears and fatigue.

“It is indeed fucking awful. And I can’t stay here, Eliza. I can’t live off his money anymore I thought it would be at least a little bit of a victory but I can’t – are there any places near you open? Or even remotely close to the hospital?”

/Seeing as how it’s two in the morning I don’t exactly have the listings right at hand—/

“I’m not asking you to look now but – tomorrow, anything, even if you just help me look through—”

/–but I do kind of… know a place./

“You do?”

He practically heard Eliza nod and tuck a strand of frizzy hair behind her ear.

/It’s a little pricey but that’s not the—it’s a two-bedroom. I kind of had my eye on it for a while but it… pricey. Like I said./

“Oh… oh.”

Gilbert closed his eyes. Brushed away a few spider threads.

“…Can you move in with me?”

/Gil…/

A heavy sigh.

/I’m not sure… that’s probably not a great idea—/

“Our living arrangement wasn’t really the problem with our relationship imploding, if memory serves,” Gilbert said quietly. “Despite how often I had to ask you to do the dishes.”

/You do have a black belt in chore nagging, that’s true,/ Eliza muttered. /…But you’re right, that… I don’t think that was the reason. Compounded with other things maybe, but if we’re not dating…— Oh god, you don’t want to—/

“No,” Gilbert said quickly. “No, no that’s… I can’t even think about you in that way anymore—”

/I did sort of invite this upon myself, but ouch./

“It would just be as roommates and friends and… sad. Single people. I guess.”

/Friends?/

Eliza’s voice was suddenly timid.

Gilbert frowned, wiping his nose with his sleeve.

“Well… yeah,” he said quietly. “I drank that wine and everything so I thought…”

/No – no, I’m… it’s a relief to hear. Honestly it…it really is. Thanks./

The line fell silent for a while. Gilbert let her think for a few minutes but he could feel a sick exhaustion clipping weights to his eyelids.

“Is that a yes, then?” he asked finally. “I’m falling asleep in this chair and… you should probably go to bed too.”

Eliza let out another deep, rattling sigh, but finally she said a tired, /Yeah. It’s… it’s not the best idea, but really it’s not the worst either./

“A medium idea, then,” Gilbert said, crawling into bed and killing the lights. Hadn’t eaten since lunch. He’d brush his teeth in a few hours.

/Sure, a medium – wait what?/

“I need to sleep.”

/Yeah that tracks. We can talk about this tomorrow./

“Okay,” Gilbert mumbled, putting the phone on speaker. “Thanks for even – for considering the idea, even. I appreciate it.”

/It benefits me too. I pay by month here and I’m pretty sure my downstairs neighbors are meth heads so I’ve been itching to get the hell out of Dodge./

“Meth is… it’s really bad,” Gilbert said, closing his eyes. “Don’t do it.”

/My teeth are one of my better assets. I’m not keen on risking them./

“All right. That’s… that’s good.”

/Yeah. Okay, Doctor Weillschmidt. Get some sleep./

“Mmph.”

/Talk to you tomorrow. Thanks for calling me and waking me up two hours before my alarm, this was fun./

“’re welcome.”

The line went dead.

Gilbert slept through the tone.

X

His suitcase lay at the bottom of the stairs.

It had fallen a good twenty feet down. Ludwig’s place had high ceilings. There was nothing in the suitcase but clothes. Nothing whose bones would break from a twenty foot drop. Just clothes, toothbrush. The rest would be boxed up later. Not by him, of course. Professionals. People who didn’t know.

The whole world was divided like that, now. Into people who did and didn’t. In the know pile were the two of them. In the didn’t, the rest. Every last rest, save for perhaps some omniscient, silent gods, Buddhas, devas. Pantheons. They might be somewhere in between, but considering the amount of incest in the vast majority of myths out there, Gilbert reasoned they probably wouldn’t care so much which pile they were in.

So it was just the two of them. The suitcase, maybe, if it were sentient. Who knew. 

The mess had torn its way through the upstairs. Upended bookends, drawers spilling their guts out onto the carpet stained with coffee. Toothpaste flecked on the mirror in the guest bedroom. Sheets rumpled on one side of the bed. Stubbornly unmade. Scratches on the outside of the master bedroom door.

Downstairs was dirty dishes in the sink, bamboo blinds hanging from a thread in the study. Plastic torn, shredded in places, bunched up over the arms of the couch. Chairs dragged across the hardwood, into the living room. One on the other side of the coffee table. 

Gilbert stared at it. Wooden. Empty. He clutched the room’s one, yellow pillow against his chest. It still smelled like the store. An off-putting mixture of potpourri and tobacco smoke. 

He hugged the pillow tighter when he heard the sound of running water. The downstairs bathroom door opened. Footsteps across the floor, the squeak of the chair.

Gilbert looked across the expanse of the coffee table. A few beads of water clung to the backs of Ludwig’s hands. 

“There is an entire third of a sofa to either side of me,” Gilbert muttered. “Would it still be ‘too close’ or me ‘getting any ideas’ if I tell you you can sit there and dispense with the psychoanalyst set-up.”

Ludwig’s fingers twitched.

“I’ve told you – many, many times, Gilbert, I’ve told you what I’m comfortable with,” he said. “And considering you just admitted to spitting in my coffee, I’m not exactly keen on—”

“Joked about – fucking joked about spitting in your coffee you sanctimonious asshole,” Gilbert snarled. “I’m a grown ass man why would I spit in your coffee no matter how much I hate you?”

“After you threw an entire pot down on the carpet upstairs I wouldn’t put anything past you,” Ludwig said, his voice rising. 

“I didn’t throw it – I was trying to leave the room and you fucking catapulted out of my way to avoid what you must have sensed would be imminent incest dick collision considering how fast you scuttled away. And yeah I got a little mad and gestured too much but I didn’t fucking throw it! Don’t twist events to make me sound like some abusive asshole!”

“I wouldn’t have had to constantly get out of your way if you would just respect the very simple rules I—”

“Oh fuck you and your rules, Ludwig! Fuck you! No one lacerates their finger on a butter knife because they’re moving calmly back after grazing hands in the silverware drawer that was your fault not mine I don’t give a shit if we make forbidden skin to skin contact.”

“If you had just waited two seconds, I would’ve –”

Ludwig made an agitated noise and ran his fingers through his hair. He hadn’t bothered gelling it back in days. Possibly because Gilbert had stolen and hidden his hair gel out of spite. Possibly for other reasons.

“Enough,” Ludwig muttered. “I don’t want to get into another pointless argument.”

“You’d rather get into a pointmore one, then? Because I’m pretty sure I could whip up a time machine and send us careening an hour and a half into the past. Good place to start would probably be when you threw my suitcase down the stairs. That was pretty pointmore, if recent memory serves,” Gilbert said, clutching at the pillow to resist the overwhelming urge to lunge across the table and nick one of Ludwig’s corneas with his fingernail.

“I didn’t throw it. You refused to move it –”

“God – god dammit Ludwig, that is not the point and you fucking well know it!” Gilbert snapped, his voice cracking again. “I’m the injured party here, okay?! I’m allowed to say you threw my fucking suitcase down the stairs. You don’t get to decide that.”

Ludwig’s lips were pressed in a thin line. His expression was reminiscent of someone who had just smelled dog shit but were afraid to go hunt it down. Pre-shit search jitters. That maybe it was on the bottom of their shoe.

“…Again, I must state my position that I don’t think I’m being unreasonable in asking you to leave,” Ludwig said finally. “And I told you I’ll provide for you—”

“I’m not some Judge Judy alimony case you obnoxious fuck,” Gilbert hissed. “I don’t want your goddamn money and I’m not leaving! You’re being insane—”

“—but if you refuse to go then as I mentioned a few hours ago I do have some documents prepared that would assist in the transition.”

Gilbert closed his mouth. Sat back. The yellow throw pillow had a single thread that was unraveling. He pulled at it to keep himself calm. The corner was starting to come undone. White fluff peeking out.

He stared at the yellow thing in his lap. The only yellow thing.

“Do you not feel anything at all?”

The thread around his forefinger was making the skin go purple.

“Does this… it really means. Nothing to you. Does it.”

“Gilbert…”

Gilbert slowly lifted his head. Like a dog at the sound of his name. He couldn’t stop hoping. Responding.

Ludwig’s hands were folded in his lap, his shoulders hunched. For the first time that day anger didn’t stain Gilbert’s vision. He could see the dark circles. The red cheeks, nose rubbed raw.

Gilbert waited, patient for once. But when several minutes passed he finally said quietly, “My name doesn’t tell me anything, Ludwig.”

Ludwig lifted his gaze. His eyes were dim. Vulnerable. Perfect for scratching. Ludwig hated eye drops. If he got a cut he’d have to put drops in for days. It would be the perfect kind of subtle torture Gilbert had been indulging in thoughts of all week.

He sliced the pillow thread with his fingernail instead.

“You know this is hard, Gilbert,” Ludwig said. His voice was dull. “I know you can hear me at night. The walls aren’t that thick.”

Gilbert nodded twice. He couldn’t meet Ludwig’s eyes.

“Then why… why do I have to go?”

The pillows insides were starting to spill out over the coarse yellow fabric.

“Why can’t I stay? We don’t… we don’t have to do… anything. We can try being – being something else. You can tell your parents and – just because they know we shared a bed doesn’t mean… they don’t have to know what we did, or—”

“Gilbert, I told you there’s no way—”

“S-So I don’t even get to try?” Gilbert asked, the words spilling past his split lips. “I don’t get to keep you or even try and integrate myself – they liked me okay, if they’d known about me when they took you in they would’ve taken me too, why’s it matter if it’s twenty seven years later? I could try, I’d be a good son I’d try – I’d t-try and be a brother or a cousin to Vash and Lily—”

“It’s bad enough we’ve already done what we have, we can’t make it worse by—”

“But why do I have to be the one that loses everything?!” 

Gilbert stared down at Ludwig, not sure when he’d stood up or where the pillow had gone. White cotton was strewn across the sofa. The thread was still around his finger.

“Why do I have to lose everything again Ludwig?!” he yelled, his throat scraped raw from the nine words alone. “You get to keep your f-family they never have to know! I’ll just be another ex-boyfriend you’ll talk about next Christmas because you’re good at keeping your mouth shut and even if your parents suspect that’s the most they ever will. They’ll forget about me in a few years. But you – you never, ever fucking will, will you?”

The realization struck him. Sunk into his bones. Made marrow into steel. Something he could use.

He stared at Ludwig, practically bound to his chair. Jaw clenched. He could probably hear stone grinding against the metal. Sharpening. 

Gilbert crouched down. Ludwig’s eye level.

“You’ll never… ever forget me,” he said again. Pressing.

Ludwig’s throat bobbed. The axe of the words against his skin, maybe.

Gilbert pressed harder, not caring about hurt, about blood about throats intact. 

“Even if I leave, you’ll never forget me,” he said, leaning forward again, his shins digging into the coffee table. “So I fucking hope you don’t. I hope I end up being a cancer to you, Ludwig. I hope I take everything from you even if it’s just my memory doing the taking and the knowledge that you fucked your own brother and still wanted to even after you found out. You sick, twisted bastard— you wouldn’t let me be your boyfriend you wouldn’t even let me be your friend; you had to cut me out because you weren’t stable enough to even try keeping me around. You’re terrified of yourself – you can’t even hate me, I bet you’re making yourself try but you know it’s always going to fail and you keep yourself up at night wondering why it was me – why it was your brother and no one else that made you feel all those things. And who’s going to want you now, you pathetic—”

“Gilbert that’s enough!”

Ludwig stood, solid, unwavering. Throat intact.

Unarmed.

Gilbert stared up at him, his insides boiling, quiet rage.

He couldn’t even win this.

He couldn’t even hurt.

Gilbert fell back down on the couch, his knees pressed up against his chest, his eyes squeezed shut so tightly there was an entire museum of modern art colorful flashes displayed against the insides of his eyelids. 

The clock ticked, one beat an age. So still the outside fell around him, Gilbert lost count. He’d lost.

And what did it matter. 

The couch sank, a few feet from him the cushions dipped. Warmth against his side.

“If you touch me I’m breaking your fingers,” Gilbert said quietly.

“I wasn’t going to touch you.”

“You had all week to touch me or give me a hug or even brush past me without bolting. You don’t get to touch me now just because you’re feeling guilty.”

“I don’t feel guilty.”

“Well fuck you too, Ludwig.”

“I don’t – this is the right thing to do, Gilbert. It’s hard—”

“Shut up.”

Ludwig shut up.

Gilbert closed his eyes. His skin was prickling. Like he was sitting very close to a Tesla coil. Waiting for it to arc.

He let out a low, quiet breath. The last of his fight rode the little breeze. Leaving him. 

He leaned against Ludwig because what did it matter now. He barely felt the hand on his shoulder. The way Ludwig was trembling. Quiet, stifled noises in the back of his throat.

Gilbert opened his eyes. He located the yellow pillow. It was clear on the other side of the room. Half eviscerated. 

“I can’t believe this is it.”

Ludwig remained silent. His hand tightened on Gilbert’s shoulder. Gilbert could feel the bones move. Half eviscerated.

“Please don’t make me go.”

“I have to.”

“You really don’t, though.”

“I can’t – I can’t fight about this again, Gilbert.”

“I’m not fighting. I’m stating.”

“Statements that lead to fights.”

“Statements that just are.”

He shrugged off Ludwig’s hand and stood. Moved to pick up the pillow.

“Wait – Gilbert, you don’t have to leave right this second—”

“I have to pack.”

“Come back to the couch. Just for a bit, I—”

Gilbert tossed the pillow at Ludwig who caught it reflexively. 

“You don’t get to pick and choose when this starts, Ludwig. I need to go pack.”

He grabbed his laundry basket and headed towards the stairs, stepping over the suitcase in the middle of the hallway. He heard Ludwig’s footsteps behind him.

“Gilbert – wait a second—”

“You can keep the pillow,” Gilbert said, glancing over his shoulder at Ludwig. “If that’s what this is about. Sorry I ruined it.”

“Wh—it’s fine,” Ludwig said, taking another step forward. “I just need to tell you that—”

“You don’t need to tell me anything you already haven’t, Ludwig,” Gilbert said, starting up the stairs. “You just want to tell me something saccharine to make yourself feel better and me feel worse. Which to be quite honest I’m no longer interested in doing. You’ve said your piece, I’ve said mine. They don’t match. You were right. We need to end this.”

“But Gilbert, I don’t want—”

Ludwig let out a startled noise as the basket of clothes shot by his head, crashing into the wall and leaving a sizeable dent. Gilbert shook out his hand – one of his fingers had gotten caught in the basket’s open weave. Smarted. 

“You’re already getting what you want. You don’t get to be the good guy too.”

Gilbert headed up the stairs again. He shut the door to the guest room and started sorting through the clothes on the ground. They were in piles from where Ludwig had dumped them out of dresser drawers. His spare set of glasses had gotten smashed. Glass was mixed into one of his sweaters. The gray and blue striped one.

He picked up the sweater anyway, folded it neatly. Perfect corners.

As he smoothed his hand over the wool, he felt the glass slice into his fingertip, clean and precise. A surgeon’s cut. Blood beaded out of the raw fissure, catching in the rough skin of his knuckles. On the scar on his thumb from when he was eleven and reckless. Ludwig never got to hear that story. Probably wouldn’t care now.

Gilbert shook his hand out, watching the blood ruin the white walls. Murder scene light. Blood splatter analysis rehearsal. 

Drops splattered against the cardboard boxes. Left polka dots on the pillow cases. The lamp pull cord. The closet door. Tiled bathroom counter. On nothing that was his. The room was stained with pink and red.

Gilbert let it bleed.


	14. FOURTEEN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, next chapter! I wrote most of this piecemeal while I was in Japan over the summer soooo yeah that’s why it took so long. A lot of you are really worried at how sad the last chapter was and all I can say really is KEEP YOUR RESPECTIVE CHINS UP. If you’ve read my other stuff you know that gil/lutz stories only end one of two ways:  
> Dead Gilbert  
> Happy (or Bittersweet) Ending  
> And I don’t want to spoil too much but I’m not planning on adding any more major warnings to this fic, so hopefully that will ease some people’s minds.  
> Enjoy!

Her voice was lovely in the shower.

It pinged against the walls. Bright, happy chords strung from late nineteenth century musicals. Lots of stuff about pirates. And panache.

At eleven at night, it was serene. Gilbert could hear it all the way in his room. Ringing through the pipes of the old, junker house. Dissolving into shrieks and curses when the hot water failed, when he forgot and tried to wash the dishes while the shower was going. When it grew scalding, the toilet in the powder room downstairs the culprit.

She never got mad. Her voice continued to sing, after the shrieking had subsided. Even in the cold. Even in the burning hot.

It was spring, and Eliza was in love.

She still cursed when she dropped the shampoo.

Maybe love was a stretch. Admiration, longing, pining. Things that hovered around the vicinity of love.

Annoyingly only the woman herself seemed oblivious.

Five in the afternoon, and their house was in disarray. Eliza was in the shower, singing again. People outside walking their dogs stopped and stared at the house. Her voice carried through the open windows.

Gilbert grabbed the bottle of disinfectant and got to work on the front glass. Spring cleaning was always terrible. A year and a half ago when they’d first moved into the house the place had looked like it had sat abandoned for at least several months. Their realtor informed them that it had only been a few weeks, actually, but some kids had broken the front windows and well, late autumn rain and hardwood floors were not exactly fast friends.

Gilbert had demanded a discount. Eliza had backed him up. The lease was for three years, and it was painfully cheap. Granted the neighborhood could have been a little better, but the couple across the street was nice. They thought Eliza and Gilbert were dating. They’d brought over a casserole to welcome the “newlyweds” to the neighborhood. Gilbert had been too hungry to correct them or to refuse. The couple had pitched in to help fix the place up a bit, too, and a year later the man’s (Mike, or something) hammer still sat on the lowest level of the built in bookshelves, waiting to be returned. Neither Gilbert nor Eliza had tools of their own, so over the course of the past year, Mike-or-something’s saw, screwdriver, and fireplace matches joined their hammer brother next to piles of old medical textbooks. The only literature in the house.

It was amazing they still had neighbors at all, really.

Gilbert heard the shower shut off and wasted no time.

“Eliza! We’re not done cleaning! Get your ass in here!”

“I told you I’m going out with Bel tonight!”

“You did not!”

“Well why else would I be takin’ a shower at five in the fuckin’ evenin’? Use your brain, Doctor!”

“I can’t keep up with your weird life schedule anymore, Elizaveta!”

Eliza just laughed and shut the door to her bedroom. The flagrant insubordination made her trite rebellion a million times worse.

Gilbert scowled and grabbed the wad of damp paper towels, half-heartedly smearing cleaner across the streaky glass.

Eliza was still singing in her room. Even without a socially-acceptable reason left to sing and without the spray of water to cover up the noise.

The paper towels went sailing across the room, splattering against the side of the waste basket. The window was still streaky. Worse than when he’d started cleaning it. Evening sunlight only accented the imperfections. Raked across the glass, showed every fingerprint, every smudge, every phantom nose pressed against the panes.

Gilbert flopped backwards, landing heavily on the threadbare rug. He stared up at the ceiling. Cobweb free as of a few minutes ago. All the webs were in a little cotton candy ball in the trash. Eliza’s only contribution. After the webs had been dealt with, she’d just sat on the couch, her knees drawn up to her chest, eyes fixed on her phone. Laughing. Brow furrowing, nose scrunched up like Gilbert remembered. She used to make that face when he’d say a horrible pun. Some snide remark she found amusing.

Now her features moved for the face of the phone. And little else.

She was so obvious. Just like he’d been, probably.

Gilbert stomach churned. He pressed his hand against it.

Eighteen months still not enough. Apparently.

Floorboards shook under his head, and a moment later Eliza’s face appeared in his vision. She had eyeliner on. Eye shadow, too. Her lips were pink.

Gilbert raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t you look nice. Nervous that Bel’ll have forgotten what you look like? Or hoping to make a new-and-improved first impression?”

Eliza rolled her eyes. Extraordinary from that angle. Had to combat the full tug of gravity.

“Isn’t a year of mocking girls’ night out enough? What will it take to get you to stop.”

“An invite?”

“Girls’ night, Gilbert.”

“Rude. And sexist.”

“Don’t — ugh.”

Eliza threw up her hands and moved to flop down on the couch. Gilbert pushed himself up, glancing at her over his shoulder.

“Aren’t we huffy.”

“I’m not huffy,” Eliza snapped. She plucked at a thread in her jeans. “I’m. I don’t know. Happy.”

Gilbert clicked his tongue.

“Yikes. Happy looks terrifying on you. I strongly recommend against a job at Disneyland.”

“Would you stop?!”

“Maybe.”

Gilbert turned to face her completely, lightly nudging her foot with his.

“Spill.”

Eliza grunted and swatted at Gilbert’s foot.

“It’s nothing.”

“My happiness usually involves lots of swatting too, by the way. You’re making Mickey proud.”

Eliza shot him a glare but then crossed her arms over her chest and fell silent. She worried at her lip and Gilbert marveled at the stereotype of pondering before him. He bided his time, and sure enough after less than a minute Eliza’s eyes flicked down to meet his.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.” Gilbert stretched out his legs, getting comfortable. “I’m assuming you’re not idiot enough to ask about —”

“No, thank you,” Eliza muttered. “The bag of cotton balls thrown at my head is still a good reminder not to bring it up. Even though it’s been an actual millennia and you know I won’t tell anyone, whatever it is.”

Gilbert waited long enough for the bile in his throat to settle before speaking.

“They were cotton balls, Eliza. Barely in the category of projectiles considering their stellar air resistance.”

She pointed a finger at him.

“I saw you reaching for my eyebrow scissors. You just happened to miss and grabbed whatever was closest. Admit it.”

Gilbert raised an eyebrow again.

“Your question, Miss Eliza.”

Eliza pursed her lips. The bright shade of pink that stained her cheeks was refreshing. She was off kilter. Rare. Distraction, and welcome.

Finally she sighed.

“Do you think — do you think it’s because I have my own practice now and don’t see her every day that… that’s why I look forward to hanging out so much? At first I thought — well, shit, maybe I’m becoming an alcoholic but last time we only had one beer and then went to the movies so that’s… that’s probably not it. Or if it is then I’m the worst alcoholic in the world and should probably get my alcoholic license revoked.”

“Since I know how your brain works I’m going to quickly shut down the alcoholic theory before it spirals out of control and you end up checking yourself into a clinic,” Gilbert said. He tilted his head to the side, dredging up what little energy he had to say mildly, “We went out to dinner last week. Did you look forward to that?”

Eliza snorted but had the decency to look a little embarrassed at the reaction. She rubbed her neck.

“That’s different. You’re my roommate… we eat together all the time—”

“You go out with Bel as often as you eat with me, you know,” Gilbert said. Roommate. The title rankled but he let it go. It was accurate enough.

“It’s different,” Eliza insisted. “It’s — ugh, I don’t want to talk about this with you after all. Never mind.”

She fell dramatically to the side and pulled one of her useless throw pillows over her face. Gilbert sat back, a bit sulky at the outright rejection.

“You’re the one who asked me first,” Gilbert muttered. He stood, grabbing the roll of paper towels on his way up. “And if you’re not going to help clean then quit distracting me. Deposit inspection is tomorrow and this place has to look presentable. At the very least.”

“It looks fine,” Eliza groaned, her voice muffled by the pillow. “Your standards have changed drastically ever since you lived with that neat freak—”

“Watch it.”

Eliza fell silent.

Gilbert was only too happy to ignore her and set about trying to un-streak the windows. It was a losing battle. His hands kept shaking. After a few moments he felt eyes on him, and when he glanced over his shoulder Eliza was staring at him, looking sad.

Gilbert turned back around. Dragged the paper towel against the window.

“What.”

“…I’m not supposed to ask.”

“You may as well have with how pinched your expression got. What is it.”

Eliza was silent again. The pipes in the house sang in the quiet.

“I don’t — I still don’t get why… his name’s like Voldemort’s in this house and I think I deserve to know why at least.”

Gilbert scowled and threw the paper towels at the trashcan. Too ripped up. Streaks weren’t going away.

He resumed scrubbing.

“Thought I told you how I felt about Harry Potter references.”

“Yeah well if you’re going to be a secretive asshole you’re going to have to put up with some shit,” Eliza said. “Like — okay if he didn’t cheat, wasn’t abusive, still liked you? Which you insist he did. Was he a spy or something? Secret assassin? Closet furry? I seriously can’t imagine you being petty enough to break up with a guy over a dress-up hobby.”

The scar on his palm throbbed. He still felt the glass. Hidden in his sweater, the tiny drops of blood he’d left behind on the walls.

“Go with assassin. Most potential for further plot development.”

Gilbert grabbed the cleaning supplies and stood.

“I’ve got a few hours I picked up at the ER tonight—”

“What — Gilbert, wait a second—”

“—enjoy your date.”

The stunned silence that followed gave Gilbert a modicum of grim satisfaction. He threw the cleaning stuff under the sink and made his way to his room. He’d barely shut the door and sat down at his desk before the door was kicked open again. Eliza stood in the hallway, visibly fuming.

“It is not a date.”

Gilbert picked up his book and leaned back in his chair.

“Okay.”

“It’s fuckin’ not.”

“Sure.”

“Gilbert — would you engage for five seconds?!”

Gilbert sighed and turned around in his chair to fix Eliza with an even stare.

“Engaged,” he droned. “Do you want me to continue Torment Eliza Pattern Alpha or should I terminate program.”

Eliza’s green eyes were unnaturally bright, and just before she opened her mouth to speak Gilbert realized his mistake.

“I’m scared.”

The voice wasn’t the happy song in the shower. It was a year and a half old. 

Gilbert pushed himself out of his chair.

“Of what, Eliza.”

Eliza rubbed her arm, her eyes darting off to the side.

“I — I dunno, exactly,” she mumbled. “Of being thirty-two and… and I don’t… really know what I am. Anymore.”

Gilbert let out a little breath and tried to keep his scorn at bay. Not even scorn. Not enough energy for that. Exhaustion was closest, probably. He’d seen the conversation coming and tried to avoid it but given that she’d walked him through his bisexual sob fest it really was only fair that he return the favor.

“You’re not any different than you were a while ago just because you want to fuck Bel.”

“Gilbert!”

Gilbert winced and rubbed his ear. Loud.

“Sorry. Just because you want to ‘make love’ to Bel.”

“That’s not the part I was parental-toning you about,” Eliza snapped, her face red. “God — I knew, I fuckin’ knew you wouldn’t take me seriously but oh no, Eliza, he’s the only gay person you know well enough to have an intimate conversation with—”

“Does my whole partiality towards women count for nothing in this household. I was looking forward to objectifying them with you.”

“—never mind that he has the emotional range of a microbe’s cock right now—”

“Inventive, disturbing, and scientifically infeasible. Well done.”

“Will you let me be angry, please?! I realize you’re incapable of the emotion right now but would you just shut the fuck up for five seconds to let me have my midlife crisis?!”

Gilbert closed his mouth. He sat back down in his chair and waited. Eliza’s hair was frizzy like she’d just jabbed an appendage in an electrical socket. Her eyes were wild. Livid.

She ran her fingers through her hair, cursing when they got stuck. 

“Fuck — fuck, god… I didn’t ask for this,” she hissed, struggling to untangle the strands.

Gilbert’s thumb twitched. Familiar wording.

He felt a dull ache in his chest and quickly extinguished it with a simple, “None of us do.”

That made Eliza look at him again. This time her eyes were pitying.

“…I guess not.”

She sank down, legs splaying over the throw rug she’d donated to Gilbert’s room in an effort to “enliven” it. Her manicured nails plucked at the threads. The manicure was her latest in a series of anti-nail-biting schemes. Flaked paint testified to cracks in the new system.

Gilbert watched her for a while, wary of further inquiry. But when she stayed silent he slowly slid off his chair and onto the floor, joining her. He pressed the balls of his feet against her knees.

“You like her?”

Eliza twisted a thread around her finger. She shrugged, the gesture and the darting of her eyes not matching at all.

“Some moments, she makes me really… really happy. I guess… giddy. Is probably closest,” she mumbled. “Like there’s glitter in my lungs or something. Emotional glitter. Obviously or — or I’d. I’d be. Dead. A lot.”

“Glitter being a poor substitute for red corpuscles I would have to agree with your hypothetical diagnosis.”

“But I was sad,” Eliza continued as though she hadn’t heard. “I was sad for so… so long and so were you. And this has the potential to be, you know. Wicked sad. Because it’s like having to do first everything again. This feels like — like a first crush? The kind the other girls force you to talk about at sleepovers when you really don’t want to and you have to randomly say a name but then that name actually turns out to make your heart flutter and when see him next there’s more fluttering, there’s an entire arboretum’s worth of butterflies in your circulatory system and first kisses meant so much. Not — not to mention other — other things that… new. Would. Would be new.”

Eliza pressed a hand against her face and groaned quietly.

“God I’m already such a mess…”

“Well when the majority of your body’s inner workings have been replaced by glitter and insects you’re bound to feel a little under the weather,” Gilbert said dryly. “But your thrilling trip down elementary school memory lane does indicate a yes as an answer to my question.”

Eliza lifted her head and glared.

“…Yes, okay. I’m pretty sure the answer is yes,” she said. She clicked her tongue. “If I’m bi does that mean my empathy levels will continue to shrivel until they’re as depleted as yours?”

“Oh, one can only hope,” Gilbert said. He leaned back on his elbows. “So will you be composing your confession in the form of a seasonal gift card or something a little more befitting the nature of your hangouts? Beer pong cups arranged in the shape of a heart, perhaps?”

“What — oh fuck, no, no absolutely I’m not telling her, are you out of your mind?” Eliza said quickly, sitting up straight. “I’m not even sure if it’s true. I can’t just go telling people things I’m only eighty percent — and that’s being generous — eighty percent sure of and passing it off as total truth.”

“Eighty percent is way surer than most other people get,” Gilbert said. “I’m pretty sure I didn’t even hit eighty percent until I was tongue deep in—”

“No! No, please — I honestly do not need to hear—”

“In another man’s mouth, Eliza, would you chill for one moment.” Gilbert prodded her knee again with his big toe. “And why won’t you tell her.”

Eliza swiped at his foot but made no real move to push him away. She rocked back and forth, worrying at her bottom lip. It was already bright red. She must have been gnawing at it before, too.

“…It sounds so. Primary school,” she finally said.

“My tolerance for emotional drama has disintegrated to next to nothing,” Gilbert said blandly. “I can’t even stand listening to Mrs. Vaughn at the grocery store complaining good-naturedly about the price of eggs. You could have the most legitimate reason on earth and I’d still think you were full of shit and over-dramatizing things so what do you have to lose.”

Eliza stared at Gilbert with a look of utter wonder on her face.

“How,” she said slowly, “am I still friends with you? How am I the only one left? What does that say about me that I’m willing to put up with this?”

Gilbert quirked a smile at her as best he could. Probably should tone down the blunt honesty a little.

“Because you’re the only one that knows I’m even more full of shit. If I really didn’t care I’d. I dunno. Wear ear plugs constantly. Get a different roommate who’s on an opposite schedule from me. Or I would’ve just kept living in that hotel room, so.”

“…Yeah, I guess,” Eliza said. She fiddled with a lock of hair and then let out a heavy sigh. “I — I’m worried she’ll think I’m gross or—”

“She won’t.”

“—or be like ‘that’s nice’ and then never want to hang out with me or… or if she is gay or… what, bi or… I don’t know any of the other ones, if she’s those and then what if she’s already dating someone? I’d—”

“She’s not, she would’ve told me.”

“—be so embarrassed and how do you know this?! I thought you weren’t that close anymore?”

Gilbert shrugged and said simply, “We used to be.”

“You used to be,” Eliza repeated. “Which means that you’re up to date on her dating history?”

“Which means I know her well enough to know that if she were dating someone she’d tell everyone in the entire hospital. Even people she’s not that close to anymore,” Gilbert said.

“Oh. Yeah she… she does like to talk about her life a lot.” Eliza smiled, distant and fond. “She’s got a way with anecdotes. It’s nice.”

“…It is nice,” Gilbert quietly agreed. 

He waited an appropriate amount of time and then cautiously prodded Eliza’s knee again.

“So am I allowed to call it a date?”

Eliza scowled and shook her head, mumbling, “A one-sided date, maybe. Which isn’t so much a date as an exercise in superficial subterfuge and clumsy lines of questioning.”

“Ah yes. I remember those.” Gilbert wrinkled his nose. “Dropping the titles of certain movies and stuff. Just to make sure you won’t get the shit beaten out of you. But I promise, Eliza. Bel… you don’t need to run her through anything. She passes the gay test with flying colors.”

Eliza nodded slowly but still looked unconvinced. She scratched her cheek as she mumbled, “Does she like me, though?”

“Oh my god — what the hell are you asking me for?” Gilbert said in exasperation.

“Because you’ve apparently been carrying around a Bel instruction manual for the past decade—”

“I’ve known her four years, but go on.”

“—and have purposefully been keeping information from me!”

“You’d find out eventually.”

“Yeah but you could’ve saved me days of pining and being obnoxious — that’s in your best interest too, you know!”

“True. But you also know that I love a good—”

The doorbell rang, and Gilbert immediately stopped talking and pushed himself to his feet. Pointless line of questioning, anyway. Eliza started to follow him but he held up a hand.

“I’ll get it.”

Without waiting for a reply (or a protest) Gilbert headed down the short hall to the front door. He yanked it open.

Bel was standing on his doorstep, looking adorable and nervous. Her headband was aqua and was twisted at the top of her head, two little ends jutting out. Maybe like bunny ears. That was disgusting.

Bel seemed surprised to see him, which was ridiculous considering he lived in the place, but recovered quickly enough. She smoothed her hands down her yellow dress and said cheerfully, “I’m here to pick up Eliza, Doctor W. Is she ready?”

Gilbert inclined his head inside and headed back to the kitchen, leaving the door open so Bel could follow. She muttered something but stepped in after him.

“Sorry, I know I’m a little early. I got ready early on accident and—”

“It’s fine,” Gilbert interrupted, sitting down in his chair. He turned on the TV. “Eliza’s in my room. She’ll probably come darting out the moment she hears your voice so there’s no need to go fetch her.”

“Ah… okay,” Bel said slowly. She sat down on the couch, at the very edge of the cushion, her hands fisted in her lap. Her eyes kept darting around, knee bouncing an aggravating staccato. Gilbert did his best to block it out with higher volumes of nature documentary.

“So, uh… Doctor. How are you?”

Bel had to raise her voice considerably to be heard over the television. Gilbert gave her a gold star for effort. He lowered the volume and glanced at her.

“Fine,” he said mildly. “Just like when you asked at work yesterday. I have a shift I’m leaving for in a few, though.”

“Oh — oh right, you’re on ER duty?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. That’s… fun.”

“Not especially.”

Gilbert turned back to the television but left the volume where it was. Bel was probably going to—

“Eliza and I are going out for drinks if — you might be able to meet up with us after your shift. It’s just a few extra hours tonight, right?”

Gilbert stared at Bel in surprise, the invitation enough to tear him away from the fascinating story of the titmouse.

“You’re inviting me?”

Bel nodded. The frequency of her knee bounce increased.

“You um… you’re not really yourself lately, Doc,” she said, rubbing the back of her neck. “And I kind of miss you since we don’t talk at work that much. And Ned’s been askin’ about you too, so—”

“Eliza would kill me,” Gilbert interrupted before Bel could get any more saccharine. “But thank you for the invite.”

“Oh come on, Eliza wouldn’t care! You guys are friends, we’re friends… it’ll be like a big, awkward friend sandwich.”

“…As appealing as that sounds, I’m afraid I’m going to have to pass.”

Bel let out a dramatic sigh and rested her chin in her hands, glaring at him.

“My vampire theory is lookin’ more and more correct,” she muttered.

“Vampire theory?”

“Yeah, you know.” Bel waved her hand in the air. “Ludwig was actually a vampire. Stole your soul so he could tolerate sunlight and is now living it up in Cuba or something because he became a vampire in the 1950s and they’re the only country with a collection of cars from that era that are still functional. Explains the outdated hairstyle too.”

Gilbert took of his glasses to clean to distract himself. 

“Well that’s. Certainly one of the more creative hypothesis,” he muttered. “Although there’s a rule against talking about him in this house but since you’re not an official resident I’ll let it slide.”

“A rule? You sound like a bucket of fun to live with,” Bel said.

“Oh, trust me, he is,” Eliza said from the doorway. Bel immediately stood and hurried over to her, giving a little twirl.

“Check it! It does fit!”

“Ha! I know that asshole was lying about the sizing being off. What a dick. It looks cute.”

“Thanks! You were totally right too, I didn’t think I could do yellow since, well, yellow undertones plus yellow clothes I’d look like a honeycomb or somethin’ but nope!”

“If you two are going to talk would you mind taking it elsewhere?” Gilbert asked, turning up the television volume again. “I can barely hear this bird’s distress call and the narrator just informed me it’s supposed to be able to carry for tens of miles.”

“We’re leavin’ anyway,” Eliza said in a huff. Huff revisited, Gilbert thought, casting a glance towards the hallway. Eliza gently prodded Bel’s arm and the two headed into the hallway, but not before Gilbert heard Bel mutter, “You’d think a year would be enough for him to get over it. They weren’t even dating that long.” 

Eliza said something in reply but it was too quiet for Gilbert to hear. 

The front door closed.

Gilbert sat back in his chair and closed his eyes. The television continued to drone.

More than a year. She was wrong on that account. More than a year, and he was over it. There was nothing to be over. There were a few letters he’d written to Ludwig’s parents but they were stashed underneath his bed. He’d probably bring them to the office and shred them eventually. They were petty, anyway. Attempts at blackmail. Gleeful accounts of what their son had done. One, crumpled one shoved into an envelope that had asked in very plain, calm language, why he’d been left to rot in the foster care system.

It hadn’t felt as cathartic as he’d hoped to write that one. Never really did when you already knew the answer to something.

The television volume suddenly spiked.

:: ruthlessness that has invaded climber culture, the willingness to leave a man to die, pinned under a rock. Manifest in those lynchpin moments, where the selfishness inherent in the sport rears its ugly head, they no longer climb for pleasure. They climb for—::

Panic seized Gilbert’s lungs. He fumbled for the remote and made to turn off the television, the lion on the room key card the drone of the air conditioner the musty smell that never left the carpet no matter how many times he asked the hotel staff—

He froze.

The television program wasn’t Everest or Hillary. The television wasn’t a huge, towering thing. And the room wasn’t the hotel. They were a small flat screen TV, his living room, and a program about birds.

Gilbert slowly sat back, his heart racing so fast it was making him feel sick. He stared at the birds on the television. Swallows. Building a nest.

His scar was hurting. Like he was Harry Potter or some bullshit. Fucking teenage wizard pop culture references would not leave him alone today.

Gilbert shut off the television and pushed himself to his feet. He’d go for a run, head early to the hospital. He had to get out of the house.

His scar was still hurting.

He stopped in the doorway, taking slow, deep breaths as he felt the unease rise. That vague sense of being hunted that made every nerve stand to attention. Panic made sweat bead across the back of his neck and he had no one to talk to. No one left to talk to, no one at all, and it was amazing, stunning crippling. How had a year with someone been enough time to erase all other support systems, erase him from contact books from memories from care, enough to make one person the center of his everything every thing every

Gilbert turned on his heel and slammed his fist into the wall. His form was off. Pinkie took the brunt of it.

“Mother fucker!”

Gilbert leaned against the wall, clutching his hand against his chest. Tears clouded his vision but the hunt was over, he could breathe. Safe, safe safe. Alone and quiet. Survivable.

Gilbert squeezed his eyes shut, hand throbbing.

Not today, at least. Maybe tomorrow. A year and a half and he’d managed to keep it at bay with maybe tomorrow, maybe tomorrow. Tomorrow he’d let himself think things through to the end.

Gilbert shook out his hand and headed into his room to grab his running gear. He was out the door in a matter of minutes, his entire arm still aching from the shock. A good to the bone ache. Not like the swelling in his knee, decades old now and he shouldn’t run, old injury was in rare form these days, but it was the only thing that would clear his head. 

He’d managed to focus by the time he got to the ER and sank into the work immediately, ignoring his hand. He tried to pick up a few extra shifts at the end of the night but Roderich informed him that he was already stretching union rules as it was and to please go home. Gilbert tried to argue but the director sicced an orderly on him and Gilbert had to high-tail it out of the hospital. He grabbed the closest fast food thing he could get his hands on en route home, eating it as he walked. The house was still dark. He remembered Bel’s invitation but it was quickly smothered by his other, sharper memory of Eliza’s pinched expression. His phone light wasn’t blinking. Meant Eliza was too far-gone to remember to text. He probably wouldn’t be able to find out where they were anyway. Movie, bar, club, karaoke.

He flicked the lights on in the entryway and began leafing through his mail as he kicked the door shut behind him. Bills. Magazines for products Eliza liked to pretend she was wealthy enough to buy.

His fingers came to rest on a white envelope. He recognized the symbol. St. Joseph’s.

His hand started to shake.

Why was the hospital that had all but raised him sending him letters now.

He let the mail fall back into the decorative “mail bowl” Eliza kept by the front entrance. 

Tomorrow.

He showered, grabbed an ice pack, then crawled into bed. He shoved the ice pack against his knee and tugged the covers over his head to try and suffocate himself into sleep. The letter weighed on his mind. Far heavier than its mass should warrant.

The clock ticked. Suffocation was a long time coming. 

Gilbert made a hole in the covers so he could breathe. There was light threatening the break through the corners of his windows. Birds were making their early morning bird noises.

Sleep wasn’t going to happen. And death was apparently still out for the time being.

He slowly pushed himself out of bed and shuffled back down the hallway. It was almost four in the morning. Eliza still wasn’t home. Probably spending the night at Bel’s but he had no way of knowing. His phone was still lightless. And she knew that communication only flowed one-way nowadays.

He leafed through the mail until he found the letter again. Sitting down in the middle of the hallway, back against the wall, he opened it.

Formalities. Typical greetings, introductions. They’d been surprised by his halfway house’s request for more information a year ago, but due to paperwork and identity issues hadn’t been able to process it until now. Enclosed was the requested information, and also he really should schedule an appointment with his former pediatrician, just to make sure everything was still in remission. Might need a new marrow transplant. So on. So forth. Should work on soliciting friends for donations. Friends and relatives.

Gilbert’s stomach churned. He folded the letter back up and closed his eyes. He’d had a physical recently. He was fine. Although that would be one pretense to contact him, wouldn’t it. Need for a donation. What kind of a sick bastard would let their brother die—

“No.”

Gilbert tugged his knees up to his chest and fisted his hands in his hair. His pinkie throbbed, tomorrow, tomorrow.

Three fifty AM.

He heard Eliza and Bel coming up the walk. They were loud, very loud for fifty past three in the morning. He thought about moving out of the way of the door, but before he could even push himself up the door slammed open, hitting him right in the shoulder.

“What the hell,” Eliza said. Her words were only slightly slurred.

The door slammed into Gilbert again before he could move.

“Somethin’s in the way!”

“Here, lemme try—”

“Wait! God dammit Bel if you slam that door into me—”

“Doctor?!”

“Gil — what the hell are you doing up?”

Gilbert staggered to his feet, rubbing his sore shoulder. He yanked open the door and glared at the two women who were blinking up at him like stunned deer. Without a word he turned and stormed back into his room, slamming the door shut. He got back into bed and pretended to sleep again, hoping to trick his brain.

But he could hear them talking. Clear as day. The air ducts carried more than just singing.

“—in the hallway like a weirdo…”

“Do you think he fell asleep there?”

“Dunno. He’s been sleeping in weird places around the house lately. Last week he just curled up on the floor in front of the oven.”

“The oven?!”

“It wasn’t on or anything, don’t worry. He’s not that depressed. I don’t think.”

Depressed.

Gilbert tugged the blankets up to his chin. It was sweltering and the ice pack was liquid. His knee hurt. How was it possible an injury fifteen years old could hurt so badly.

Bel and Eliza moved into the living room, and he could only hear snatches of their speech.

“—totally hitting on her… — not notice, it’s ridiculous.”

“Yeah, but… — three tequila shots! Just for losing one round! And—”

The voices suddenly stopped. All Gilbert could hear was the birds. 

A flurry of activity in the hallway. Stumbling, walls shuddering, doors opening and failing to close completely. 

Gilbert tugged the covers up over his head. It was sweltering. He could barely breathe but still he could hear them. Trace their movements by the sounds. A loud noise of pain, a jar against the wall as Eliza forgot, again, that she’d left the drawers of her dresser partially open. Squeaking of the mattress. Fumbling of a hand against the wall, looking for the light switch. Soft voices, quiet, shy laughter.

Gilbert pressed his hands over his ears and squeezed his eyes shut. Outside the birds continued to sing obnoxiously, the gray patches in the east took on their new colors. And Gilbert, for the first time in over a year, wished bitterly, bitterly that he were alone.

-/-

He started taking extra shifts. Extra extra shifts. Double extra. Triple. Enough that he barely managed to stay within union boundaries. That justification was the only thing he had that he could wave at Roderich to get him to back off. It would’ve been so, so tempting to tell him about Eliza’s recent second-blossoming into womanhood but even in his state of pleasant detachment Gilbert could see what a shitty idea that was. Ever since Eliza had won her trial and yet quit anyway Roderich had been like a scared, defeated rabbit. Oxenstierna was losing patience, it was easy to tell, but Roderich was performing just well enough to keep from getting fired. For the time being. And that thin ice made it conversely easy for Gilbert to skate around him.

The senior doctors were fond of reminding Gilbert that he didn’t have anything to prove. He was still qualified for surgery. Just because his friend had fucked up and fled to private practice didn’t mean his entire medical career was also headed for the shitter. Gilbert just plastered a grin on his face, apologized for stepping on any toes, and adopted a bashful tone when he confessed that work was all he really had going on.

It was fascinating how the truth always sounded so innocuous.

Work was all he had.

Said in one tone, workaholic. In love with his job, adored by his patients and their parents, always with a steady supply of stickers in his pockets to keep the kids calm, willing to sit with them until the wee hours of the morning reading picture books, painting nails, braiding hair, playing army. Model pediatrician. 

Said in another tone, desperation. Empty house. Empty nights. Empty weekend. Empty laugh, smile, idle conversation, he may as well be a marionette. He’d been to one therapy session, argued with the too-calm doctor, and had stormed out. Much to Eliza’s dismay.

Not that she’d been around much to get dismayed. Logistics being what they were.

The big hand slid onto the twelve, and Gilbert’s heart sank. Shift over.

He glanced around the mostly empty ER. Slow night. One kid crying in a corner but his collar bone was already being set by one of the residents. The younger interns were starting to give him nervous looks. They’d been given orders to kick him out the moment shift was over. But apparently he had something of a reputation.

Good.

Gilbert let out a heavy sigh when one of them finally peeled away from the group and started walking towards him. Rather than let the intern get the satisfaction of telling him he had to pack up, he stood and held up a hand to let her know that he got the message. She looked relieved and went back to her group.

Gilbert did another quick lap to make sure everything was under control and then reluctantly headed towards the exit. What fast food places were open at four thirty in the morning that he could stomach —

The doors to the ER suddenly burst open, a bloody gurney and frazzled nurse hurrying inside. The kid was screaming too loudly for Gilbert to hear anything the nurse said. The interns moved forward together like one, massive amoeba. And Gilbert saw his chance to stay when the front line balked.

He clipped his nametag back on and stormed across the room, snapping orders for the interns to prepare a bed. The moment he saw the kid it was obvious what was causing the high-pitched screams. Her leg was mangled. Badly. Multiple compound fractures, bone jutting out white and Himalayan against the blood plains staining the child’s jeans. Someone had tied a tourniquet around the child’s leg. A dark blue tie. Looked expensive. 

Car accident, most likely. Strange for so early in the morning.

“—driving to the airport, no casualties on the bus. In the car, two adult passengers, minor injuries, the child is the only one—”

“Liddel tell them to prep a room for surgery,” Gilbert snapped, gesturing for the nurse to keep talking. The child screamed even louder, panicked noises now, not just ones of pain.

“No! No surgery no no no no no—”

“Jackson, get a sedative,” Gilbert ordered, feeling a bit vindicated when the intern literally jumped at the command. He turned his attention to the child, staying out of the way as best he could as the nurses cut off the kid’s jeans and began removing other items of clothing. The child was in a state of utter panic and starting to struggle. Eyes as white as the bones in her leg. Terrified, frantic. A resident was trying to start an IV but the child was punching him as hard as she could, shrieking so loudly Gilbert’s ears were ringing. He held up a hand, stopping the intern, and then moved closer.

“Hello!” he yelled over the noise. “I’m Doctor Gilbert! What’s your name?”

Wild eyes fixed on him, his nametag, the stethoscope around his neck. The girl shook her head and began to sob in between her cries. She couldn’t have been older than six. Her hands tugged at the tie around her leg and Gilbert quickly moved to take her hands instead, giving them a little squeeze. She took a breath, and Gilbert took full advantage of the silence.

“I’m Doctor Gilbert, I’m here to help you, okay? What’s your name?” he said quickly, sensing he had very little time to become her best friend before a new wave of panic would set in. A spark of understanding lit up the girl’s features and she stopped struggling long enough for the intern to slide the needle into her arm. She didn’t move — doubtful she felt it with her leg as crushed as it was.

“S-Sarah,” the girl said, her voice hoarse from screaming. “I-I’m Sarah where am I where’s my dad?!”

Gilbert glanced at the nurse who quickly pointed across the street before giving a thumbs up. The general hospital. In stable condition.

Gilbert gave the girl a grin and said with all the confidence he could muster, “One of my other doctor friends is taking care of your dad at the main hospital. He’ll be over to see you as soon as my friend makes sure he’s all right. And it’s my job to make sure you’re okay so you can see him. This is the children’s hospital so we’re in great shape to take care of you.”

Sarah’s eyes welled up with tears again and she started to struggle once more. The nurses had finished cutting away her clothes and getting the sheets in place and they started to push the gurney towards surgery. Sarah let out a panicked shriek and tried to sit up but Gilbert quickly stopped her with a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“Sarah, Sarah it’s okay, we’re going to fix your leg, all right?”

“I-It hurts—”

“Yeah I bet it does, but we’re going to make it stop hurting so bad. You’re gonna have to be brave for a little bit, though,” Gilbert said. “Are you good at being brave?”

Sarah shook her head, still sobbing. Gilbert inwardly sighed. New tactic.

He jogged lightly to keep up with the gurney, giving Liddel the intern a thumbs up as she returned and pointed towards surgery C. Room open. Thank god. The girl was hemorrhaging blood at this point and they needed to move.

Sarah reached for the tie again and Gilbert gently stopped her.

“You must really hate that tie! You keep trying to mess with it! Is it your dad’s?”

Sarah shook her head and struggled weakly against Gilbert’s grip.

“N-No it’s not his I hate it it hurts!”

Not her father’s. Whoever’s tie it was, they probably saved her leg, maybe even her life, with the tourniquet. Gilbert vaguely remembered the nurse saying there were two men in the car. Both in stable condition.

“The tie’s doing an important job!” Gilbert said encouragingly. “I know it hurts but it’s acting like a doctor right now. It’s helping heal your leg so I need you to leave it alone for right now, okay, Sarah?”

The girl groaned in pain and fear, and for a panicked moment Gilbert thought she was going to resist more. But finally she nodded and closed her eyes. Her face was so pale.

“I hate it,” she said weakly, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I-I hate it I hate him…”

Her head lolled to the side and Gilbert cursed. She was out cold. Maybe for the best at this point, but still not a good sign.

He abandoned the gurney and jogged ahead to prep and wait for the x-rays. Had to trust the rest of the staff. His worst, least favorite aspect. Yao was still there, thankfully, and volunteered to be briefed and speak with the radiologist. Gilbert gave the man a grateful smile that quickly faded when Yao suggested he go home and let someone else handle the surgery. Gilbert immediately shot the idea down, but Yao’s Olympic-level eye-roll didn’t imply much confidence.

Gilbert let the gesture go without comment. He was gracious, after all. He remained in the prep room, waiting to finish getting ready until Yao returned. X-rays were up on the screen, fractures and breaks located, a plan quickly made. Her pelvis had somehow escaped major injury. Just a fracture. She was very lucky. Hands washed, sterilized, anesthesiologist did her work. All that fell in the realm of Gilbert’s vision and mind was the broken slab of meat on the table that belonged to a nameless girl and the simple drive to fix.

Simple.

Over.

Gilbert blinked his eyes. The blood was mopped up. Black Xs on the girl’s leg. Yao had closed. His stitches were always so precise. Little soldiers.

“Good work, Doctor.”

Gilbert nodded in response to whatever Yao had said and watched the girl being wheeled away. The breaks had been cleaner than they’d initially appeared. Easy to set and stitch. Half an hour, tops. One of the nurses patted him on the back. Said he could go home, he should rest. Gilbert felt himself shake his head before he could conjure a normal response. No, no going home. Excuse, he needed an excuse—

The girl’s tear-streaked face.

“She was incredibly upset. I think I’ll stay with her until her father is released from general,” he said. The nurse gave him a wary look and opened his mouth to probably offer to do the watching himself. Gilbert clapped the man on the shoulder and headed out before he had time to respond.

Jones. That was the nurse’s name. There were too many new faces now that he was taking on more shifts. He could barely keep them straight.

Gilbert peeled off his gloves and scrubbed down before checking to see where the girl’s room was. Third floor, quick recovery. He made a quick visit to his locker to get his phone and then hoofed it up the stairs.

There were only two other kids in her room. Both were sound asleep. He’d operated on one of them the other day. Kidney transplant. Was taking nicely. Ideal results, actually, which were so rare they were often touted as miracles. He checked the kid’s file again just to make sure the miracle somehow hadn’t reversed itself overnight and then made his way to the girl’s bed. She was still out cold and would be for a while. Gilbert hooked his foot around a chair and dragged it towards the bed. He sat down, pulled out his phone. Shitty free-to-play rhythm games and public domain books weren’t going to access themselves.

The sun came up, nurses made their rounds, and still the girl wasn’t awake. Gilbert was keeping a close eye on her vitals just in case, but she was stable. He read a couple books. Played some puzzle games to keep from drifting off. Several of the nurses kept eyeing him but he’d just smile and point to the girl and flash them a pleading look and they’d leave him alone. Amazing how easy it was to pretend he was just that caring.

Voices out in the hall interrupted the quiet of the recovery ward. A doctor and an intake nurse. Gilbert could hear the metallic slide of a pen against a clipboard. 

“—circumstances, but I have to say I don’t really appreciate this whole pulling rank business. Not where patients are concerned.”

“We did get the permission forms signed by her father. And he’ll be discharged in a few hours.”

“The girl’s unconscious with a doctor standing watch; I hardly think a third party will—”

“With all due respect, Doctor, I am not a third party.”

Gilbert’s skin prickled. A cold sheen of sweat.

The tie.

Of course the tie. Blue silk. Darker blue flowers. Subtle. Although now the subtleties of the weave were a bit harder to see since they were covered in six year old blood.

He stared at the door, the three silhouettes on the other side of the frosted glass.

The door slid open. The three were still talking and each word drove a spike of utter panic and anger into Gilbert’s spine. They were coming closer, footsteps one two three one two three, the curtain around the bed closest to the door wouldn’t shield him for much longer, two more steps. For a wild moment Gilbert contemplated hiding behind the bed, tugging a sheet over himself or under the little side table with its generic fake flower arrangement but one two three one two three and it was too late.

Gilbert scrambled for his phone, managing at the last moment to hold it naturally, nonchalantly, his legs still propped up on the bed as though he were a bored commuter waiting for the train.

One two

A sharp intake of breath instead of three. Resigned shock. Inquiring voices wanted to know, what was wrong, Mr. Schmidt.

Gilbert took a very, very long moment to school his features, and then glanced up from his phone. No more than a few centimeters above.

There were a few artfully placed stitches across his forehead. The dissolvable kind, very unobtrusive. Hair disheveled. His shirt was unbuttoned, suit coat slung over his arm.

Tie missing.

Gilbert stared past Ludwig as though he were not there at all. The man’s facial features were a dull blur and he was determined they stay that way. Gilbert smiled, polite and inquisitive.

“Doctor Ox. Nurse Williams. May I help you?”

If Berwald picked up on the sudden tension in the room he was too professional to show it. He inclined his head towards Gilbert.

“You’re relieved of your watch, Doctor. A stand in for her guardian can take over.”

“That’s very kind of her guardian’s stand in, but I’m rather invested in this patient—”

“Gilbert—”

Gilbert continued as though he hadn’t heard the shocked plea from the nonentity in the room.

“—and as her doctor I would like to be here when she wakes up. Call it a personal quest to put a good face to modern medicine. The girl was in a panicked state of mind when she arrived. I’d hate for her only impression of me to be such a blighted one.”

“Gilbert, what — they said that your shift was over! I — I never would have—”

“Do you two know each other,” Doctor Oxenstierna calmly interrupted, glancing between the two.

Gilbert mentally braced himself and then slowly turned to fix the man in question with a cool stare.

Ludwig looked stoic but cornered, eyes darting around and hands clenched at his sides. Gilbert felt a cheap thrill of triumph that he’d managed to keep his own emotions where they belonged. Quiet and hidden and mysterious.

He’d won. Ludwig was too obvious. Even after a year and half of separation, still so easy to read.

Gilbert put a smile on his face and leaned back in his chair.

“Yes, Doctor, we do,” he said politely. “He’s my brother.”

Ludwig stilled. As though he’d been petrified. Oxenstierna raised an eyebrow and studied Gilbert for a long moment before he nodded.

“Then you don’t mind if we allow him to stay? His paperwork is. Slightly lacking.”

“I told you the signatures are all there, Doc,” Williams mumbled. He tapped his finger on the clipboard.

“And I told you that a shoddy signature from a man under morphine does not good evidence make. This is a children’s hospital, Williams. We must take every precaution.”

Gilbert kept his gaze fixed on Ludwig, whose eyes were tracking a point over Gilbert’s shoulder. A dust mote, maybe. Caught in the early morning sun.

“She hates you, you know,” Gilbert said mildly. He gestured to the girl on the bed. “It was one of the only coherent things she said.”

Ludwig’s shoulders tensed. His lips pulled away from his teeth, but other than that he did not react, save to say a curt, “I know.”

Gilbert felt a rush of vindictive glee that quickly swamped the rest of his senses. And it was that desire to see the little girl prone on the bed hurt the man who’d saved her life that made Gilbert crush a year and a half’s worth of resentment, humiliation, anger, betrayal, and despair enough to say genially, “He can stay.”

“Fine,” Oxenstierna answered, either oblivious or indifferent to the gravity of the response. “I’ll entrust him to you, then, Doctor. Although you should go home soon and sleep. You neither smell nor look like you belong among the living.”

He turned and left, Williams trailing after him like a bewildered sheepdog.

The door slid shut.

Gilbert remained seated, his feet propped up on the bed. He studied Ludwig. Unchanged for the most part. Lost a little weight, maybe. Nothing too noticeable. His suit was still too nice. Shoes looked uncomfortable. Wing-tips. And then the stitches. None of it really said ‘every waking moment of existence has been utter misery for the past year and a half of my life.’

The girl’s heart rate picked up slightly. Gilbert’s gaze slid to the monitor.

Not to mention.

Gilbert smiled up at Ludwig, who still hadn’t met his eyes.

“So you had a kid. That was fast. I thought the gestation period for demon spawn was a bit longer than eighteen months.”

That finally got a reaction out of Ludwig. He glanced at Gilbert and then shook his head before moving to sit on the other side.

“I didn’t think I would need to clarify this, but she isn’t my daughter,” he muttered. “She’s the daughter of—”

“How long have you two been dating?”

Ludwig fell silent again. He folded his hands in his lap.

“It’s none of your business.”

“Well that’s simply not true,” Gilbert said lightly. “I need to know if you actually are acquainted with this child and her family or if you’re merely fucking her father for sport. One of those means permission to be in this room. The other means I get to call security and have you thrown out. So yes, Mr. Schmidt. I’m afraid it is my business.”

Ludwig ground his teeth. Gilbert remembered the sound. He was used to hearing it as background noise during procedural dramas. Ludwig had a hard time accepting the narrative flow of television sometimes.

Gilbert waited patiently. He had nowhere else to be. Judging by the stitches Ludwig was probably sporting a severe headache. One Gilbert was only too happy to exacerbate.

“Five months.”

Gilbert made a little noise to show he’d heard. A reasonable time span. He was still bitter but five months wasn’t anything yet. Six, maybe, and he’d be feeling rather depressed. Five was nothing.

“Generous of you to wait a year before putting your Grindr profile back on active. I didn’t think—”

“I dated before him.”

It was like a blow, delivered with the nonchalance of the ignorant. Gilbert swallowed heavily, his stomach giving an unpleasant lurch that sent cold poison through his skin. Gave him goosebumps.

“Didn’t work out?” he asked lightly. “Did you tell them about the whole brother fucking situation? That would probably put the damper on most things qui—”

“Why are you here.” 

Gilbert clicked his tongue and lifted his phone again.

“Come now, Ludwig. You don’t need to act as though my being here is some personal slight or challenge to you. I don’t think I need to remind you of this but you have wandered into my territory, not the other way around. You aren’t allowed to act all shocked and vindictive.”

“I am allowed to act however I want.”

It was a child’s response, said with a tired man’s voice. Ludwig sounded like he’d rehearsed the line. And maybe he had. In front of the mirror, wracked with guilt and loneliness. Gilbert could only hope. He let himself mentally indulge the scenario for a while.

“Also not true, I’m afraid,” he said finally. “This is a hospital. And there are evil people who kidnap and hurt children. And as their doctor—”

“Have you always been this sanctimonious? Or has time just made it worse?” Ludwig interrupted. “Just let me sit with her until her father can get here.”

Gilbert slowly lowered his phone and stared at Ludwig. The man’s face was pinched. Stubborn and vindicated.

“…You know this is where I work,” Gilbert said quietly. Anger was starting to well up in him. Took effort to keep his voice even and soft. “You know some of the staff. Some of the doctors. You came in here with the full knowledge that I might be here—”

“I asked and they said your shift had ended, I told you that—”

“—and yet you somehow think you have the right to tell me what I should allow you to do. To insult me and you didn’t even say hello—”

“And the first thing you did was remind me that my boyfriend’s daughter hates me,” Ludwig hissed. For the first time his gaze was focused fully on Gilbert, his eyes narrowed with fury. “God, this is always what I’ve hated about you, you play the victim without a second thought—”

“Oh yes, please, Ludwig, tell me more about what you hate about me. I barely remember the alphabetized list you recited for me a year ago,” Gilbert snapped. “You waltz into my hospital, demand to see my patient —”

“I wasn’t ‘demanding’ anything! Her father asked me to—”

“Oh right, her father, congratulations on hooking up with someone with a kid, considering I distinctly remember you saying you couldn’t understand how I could bear to work with children since they’re so insufferable—”

“I never said—”

“Doctor?”

The weak voice made them both fall silent. Gilbert looked down at the bed and saw the girl staring blearily up at him. The professional smile he’d worked years to build plastered itself on his face like a reflex. He hopped out of his chair and began checking her vitals.

“Good morning, Miss Sarah. How are you feeling?”

“Sick,” the girl mumbled. She closed her eyes again. “Like… pukey…”

“Pukey – do you need a bucket?”

She slowly shook her head but Gilbert tugged the wastebasket closer to the bed. Just in case.

Her vitals were stable, so he sat down again. Children generally hated it when you hovered over them. Made them think they were about to get a shot. Or at the very least like they were being talked down to.

“Do you remember who I am, Miss Sarah?”

The girl opened her eyes and stared at him for a moment before nodding slowly.

“You’re the doctor that… that said the tie on my leg was… also a doctor,” she said cautiously. “And you have pink eyes. I remember.”

“That’s right,” Gilbert said. He carefully tugged the blankets around her a bit more. “Your father’s still in the other hospital. He had to get pictures of his brain and now people are looking at them to make sure he’s okay. But he’ll be over as soon as that’s done.”

Sarah nodded again and tugged the blankets up higher. She said a soft, “Okay,” and then fell silent again. Her large, brown eyes scanned the room and Gilbert waited with baited breath as her gaze finally came to rest on Ludwig. She immediately sat up, still staring at him. Her bottom lip began to tremble.

“Why’re you here?”

Ludwig clasped his hands in front of him, like a disgraced politician awaiting their sentence.

“Richard asked that I keep an eye on you while he is being examined.”

The girl’s face twisted into a scowl. 

“The doctor’s here. You’re not a doctor. You’re just a dumb talker, you can’t do anything.”

“If you really don’t want him here, Miss Sarah, I can send him off,” Gilbert volunteered.

Sarah’s eyes lit up and she looked as though she had forgotten all about the pain in her leg. She opened her mouth, and Gilbert could see the delighted ‘yes’ forming.

But then Ludwig interrupted.

“Richard wanted me to play this for you.”

He held out his phone. Pressed play. A man’s voice drifted out of the tinny speakers. Exhausted and full of false cheer.

/Hello, sunbeam. I hope you are being brave for all the doctors. I’m fine, so don’t worry about me. Get lots of rest. I will be there as soon as I can. And do try to be nice to Ludwig. Love you, munchkin./

Sarah’s brow furrowed. She snatched Ludwig’s phone out of his grip and played the message again. Obviously looking for falsified evidence. Gilbert sat back in his chair, ignoring the message as it was played a third time, and watched Ludwig’s expression. Stony. Hardly the expression of someone who was touched by a father’s thoughtfulness.

Finally Sarah set the phone down, a resigned look on her face. She gave Ludwig one last glance before dismissing him. Apparently not being aggressive was being nice in her book. Gilbert relished the twitch to Ludwig’s cheek. He had a vein there that throbbed when he was upset. Twitched neurotically. It was practically dancing now.

The girl settled against the pillows again and closed her eyes.

“I’m resting,” she announced. She cracked open one eye and stared at Gilbert. “Will you tell Dad I was brave?”

“Of course, kiddo,” Gilbert said with a smile. He tugged the blankets up to her chin, made sure she was comfortable. She gave him a little grin in return and hunkered down again, her eyes squeezing shut. Gilbert upped her painkillers, just a bit, and soon she was quietly snoring.

Gilbert sat back, letting a grin twist his features as he regarded Ludwig.

“Sounds like you’ve hooked a real winner there,” he said, full of light conversation. “What does he call you in bed? Sweet pea? Niblet? Does he make you call him ‘daddy’?”

“You’re disgusting,” Ludwig muttered, looking away. 

“We both are, Ludwig, remember? That was one of the cruxes of your whole argument. Don’t tell me you still can’t handle incest jokes because let me tell you, these past eighteen months have really let me work on my repertoire. I’ve entire volumes of them, if you’re curious, ranging from the Oedipal to the Electra.”

“You’re obsessed.”

“Just taking my cues from my big brother,” Gilbert said. He hummed in thought. “Or wait, was I the first one out of our mother’s womb? Or were we both more untimely ripped, that sort of thing? I honestly don’t know. Something to ask the hospital when I contact them again.”

“Enough!”

Ludwig pushed himself to his feet, his face pale. He glared down at Gilbert, his hands balled into fists at his sides.

“I thought you could be mature about this. Clearly I was mistaken. Good-bye, Gilbert. I’ll be back for her when she wakes up.”

He turned to leave, and suddenly Gilbert found himself on his feet, his lips forming the word ‘wait’ before he could stop them fully. The most they managed was the first sound before he clamped his mouth shut. It was enough, though, to make Ludwig stop and glance over his shoulder.

“What.”

Not the kindest of words. Or tones.

Gilbert stared at Ludwig, trying to come up with something clever. Something that would drive him from the hospital, maybe straight into traffic. Finish whatever bus or car that had hit him that morning had started.

Instead, all he said was, “I don’t know.”

The room was filled with the quiet, steady sound of machines. Machines and little else.

Ludwig slowly turned around, wary.

“…I thought you wanted me to leave.”

“I do.”

“You’re not exactly subtle.”

“I’m not.”

“Should I sit down?”

Gilbert sat. He pulled out his phone and began to read. His hand was shaking.

He heard the shuffle of Ludwig’s feet. Two steps towards the door. Pause. Turn around, soft footfalls to the chair. The scratch of the chair legs against the floor. Tapping of a thumb against a smartphone screen. Ludwig had this app on his phone – or he used to have it, maybe he’d gotten rid of it – that would scroll news highlights from around the world on his lock screen. He used to read them all obsessively. Made him horribly late in answering calls. Messages.

Gilbert flicked to the next puzzle stage.

“You saved her life, you know.”

Ludwig’s chair shifted.

“...The EMTs saved her life. All I really did was ruin my tie. I was on my way to a conference. I was nervous about the speech so—”

“—so you wore your blue tie. I should’ve recognized it right away. Hard to see the little flowers with all the blood.” Gilbert glanced over the top of his phone towards Ludwig. “And you did save her life. And even though I’m not sure which one of us is repulsed by you more, me or little Miss Sarah here, I insist on credit being given where it’s due.” He went back to his phone. “And ‘Richard’ sounds rich enough to buy you a new one, judging from his choice of 1930s nicknames for his daughter and his upper crust diction. Make him spring for pure silk, none of that blend crap. And thick ties, I don’t care if skinny ones are in. Your head’s so big with your ego a skinny tie just makes you look like a balloon person trying to infiltrate humanity’s ranks.”

Ludwig fell silent. His thumb tapped against his phone a few more times.

“I wanted her to like me.”

Gilbert didn’t respond. Didn’t feel fit to contribute to the conversation. His throat was starting to close, anyway. Complicated things.

“I wanted her so badly to like me – she’s hated all of Rick’s boyfriends and I was sure… I thought I’d be different. For some reason. Which is stupid, children… children always hate me. And – god, you can’t tell – obviously, you… you wouldn’t but, when I was putting the tourniquet on I thought for one… stupid, self-involved second, ‘maybe if I save her life, she’ll like me.’ Isn’t that the most—”

“It’s up there on the list of ‘most pathetic and horrible things,’ yeah,” Gilbert said. “And you’ve said some stuff that’s a real strong contender for first place on that particular list.” He fiddled with his phone, not really reading the article he’d pulled up. His eyes were still fixed on Ludwig, whose eyes were fixed on his phone. “Are you trying to get me to degrade you? Is that what this little confession is all about?”

Ludwig looked up from his phone. He looked tired. His stitches looked angry. Red.

“I’m trying to talk to you.”

Gilbert set down his phone.

“Oh.”

Silence.

“Do you not want to talk to me?” Ludwig asked.

“Not really.”

“But you don’t want me to leave.”

Gilbert shook his head.

“I guess not.”

“Am I bothering you?”

“No.”

“I could leave.”

“Don’t.”

Gilbert scrubbed at his eyes, tugged his knees up against his chest and hid.

“Just. Sit there. And be quiet and present. And let me think.”

“All right.” Soft.

Gilbert stared at his knees. He listened to Sarah’s vitals, to the slight buzzing Ludwig’s phone made whenever he tapped a key.

It stopped buzzing.

“Gilbert, are… how are you doing. Lately, I mean.”

“Lately,” Gilbert repeated. His voice was muffled against his jeans. “Lately. How am I, lately. Well, Ludwig, lately I’ve been identifying personally with more than one protagonist of young adult fiction, so that should clue you in. I haven’t left the hospital for thirty hours, hopefully another clue. Need any more help, Sherlock? Should I go shit in a cup for you, let you run some diagnostics?”

“…Are—you’re not… are you, um. Drinking?”

“I get the recommended eight glasses a day, yeah.”

Ludwig inhaled sharply, and in irritation Gilbert snapped, “Of water, Ludwig, Jesus Christ. You have to be the only person on this planet that will flat-out ask someone if he’s drinking himself to death. What a fucking idiot.”

“You’re at least twenty pounds lighter than when I saw you last—”

“And Mr. Hyperbolic makes a stunning reappearance, I was wondering when I’d get to see him again.”

“—you’re short-tempered, inconsistent – forgive me for caring—”

“You don’t care,” Gilbert hissed. He lifted his head and stared across the comatose girl at Ludwig. “You don’t care; you just want to know how much guilt you should feel. Gilbert’s an alcoholic? Ten points. Malnourished? That’s another five. Suicidal? Whoa, wait a sec, does he have a plan yet? If no plan, only fifteen points, but if he’s got a plan then that’s a solid twenty you’re looking at right there.” He grabbed his phone and sat back, glaring daggers at the article on some new virus that was wrecking havoc in parts unknown. 

“Twenty points. That’s what you earn,” he muttered, clicking through an ad for running shoes. “I’ll let you figure out how those are distributed.”

“Did it ever once occur to you that I might be having a hard time, too?” Ludwig asked. His back was ramrod straight. His tone was cold.

Gilbert didn’t even bother looking up.

“No. The string of boyfriends that now separates the two of us makes it hard for me to give a shit.”

“People date for a lot of reasons, Gilbert—”

“Oh that’s rich, you calling yourself a person. Not sure you’ve earned that spot on the reincarnation wheel yet.”

“This hasn’t been easy for me either! It took me months to—”

“To what, find someone to fuck? Or, sorry, ‘make love,’ too, I should probably stop being so crass since you’re making me have this conversation in a children’s hospital.”

Ludwig all but threw up his hands. He grabbed his phone and muttered, “I should have known a textbook narcissist would never understand.”

Gilbert’s phone hit him square in the jaw.

Ludwig was too surprised to even make a noise. He just pressed a hand to his face and stared across at Gilbert, his eyes wide.

Gilbert was trembling. At some point he had stood. His muscles ached from the sudden movement. Shoulder hurt. Not used to throwing a fastball.

“We’re done here.”

He walked around the bed, stopping only to pick up his phone. Screen shattered. On Ludwig’s jaw or the floor, he wasn’t sure. Didn’t really matter, but he was rooting for jaw.

“You can ask Nurse Williams for some ice,” he said absently as he slid open the door. “Sounded like it hurt.”

The door clicked softly shut behind him.

About halfway back to his house, in the middle of a train car, Gilbert pressed his thumbs against the broken screen, and silently cried. 

Instant pariah status when you cried on public transport, really. It was impressive the quick turnaround time from benign stranger to public, crying menace. Several older people stood up and moved to a different train car. Others pulled out books and phones. Pretending they couldn’t see or hear. Honestly the nicest thing strangers had ever done for him.

By the time the train reached his stop Gilbert’s eyes were dry. Cheeks were red, though, and phone was still broken. He let himself into the house and went straight to his room. Bel’s shoes were in the entryway. They may as well have been glued there. Hadn’t moved in a week, it felt like.

He tugged off his clothes and slid into bed.

Teeth. Hygiene. 

Shower and toothpaste, spitting into the shower drain because why waste time brushing your teeth at the sink, with clothes on, when you could brush your teeth in the shower, like a depressed genius. He crawled back into bed again and stared out the window at the bright, sunlight-drenched backyard. He felt vaguely like crying again. Decided against it.

Maybe Richard would buy him a new tie. A new tie for pre-speech nerves. Silk. Red this time. Clashed with Ludwig’s complexion but he was handsome, no one would give a shit if he didn’t know how to match colors. Maybe Sarah would warm up to him. Draw him in pictures at school. Of her house, her family. Did six year olds still draw pictures at school. Weren’t they a little old. When did learning multiplication tables start. Maybe she’d call Ludwig ‘dad’ at some point. He’d get flustered. Secretly happy. People would recognize him at her school. Sarah’s other dad. The one that saved her life. Baked cupcakes for the school bake sale, coached JV soccer, appeared in yearbooks, PTA meetings. Brought her to his parent’s house, still snug against the mountain. Taught her to ski, to snowboard when she said skiing was lame. His parents would adore her. Spoil her. 

And Ludwig would sit down at Christmas, at birthdays, at weddings. With his family.

Just like always.

Gilbert pressed his face into his pillow, his fingers clutching at the matted cotton stuffing. He heard Bel’s voice, Eliza’s too so he muffled his noises, kicked his legs silently against the bed as his brain tumbled over and over again around the same, torturous rocks. 

Narcissist. 

That’s what he deserved, wasn’t it. That title. Only a narcissist would want a place at a table so badly. Wouldn’t care if he had to fuck his own brother to get it. Or abstain from fucking or pretend he’d never loved him.

And only a masochist would insist it had to be that exact table.

At some point he fell asleep. His hands still clutching at his pillow. The doorbell ringing woke him. He looked out the window. Sun was low. Maybe late afternoon.

The doorbell rang again.

He tugged on a shirt and headed down the hallway. Bel and Eliza’s shoes were gone, and there was a delivery person at the door. He could see the hat. 

He pulled open the door, signed, smiled at whatever the woman had said, and shut the door. He examined the package as he padded into the living room.

It was addressed to him.

Sitting down on the couch, he tugged the tape off the package. It was pretty small. Smaller than a shoebox, certainly. He pushed the flaps open, and then could only stare.

Inside the box, was a cell phone. Mint in the box. Updated model of his now-defunct one.

There was a note there too, but anger boiled up inside of him and he had to set the box aside. Less than twelve hours after his phone broke. How many strings had he pulled to get it delivered that fast.

It was a long time before Gilbert could force himself to look at the note.

It was typed – obviously something done by whatever courier service Ludwig had hired. No name. Arrogant bastard.

Narcissist.

Gilbert shook off the word and opened the note.

/Maybe aim for something softer next time. I’d recommend stomach or kidney. Thanks for taking care of Sarah. Glad you were her doctor./

The banter was stale. One-sided, as all banter-through-notes was doomed to be.

Gilbert set down the note.

Next time.

He picked up the phone.

Next time.

He wondered if the cell store took cash for phones. The box said the phone had ten whatevers of RAM. That was so much RAM. That couldn’t be right. His computer didn’t even have that much.

Gilbert turned the box over.

Next time.

He’d accepted the hotel room and it still haunted him. Would he be able to handle a ghost phone. A passive-aggressive – for that’s what it had to be – reminder of his childishness. His vindicated childishness but still.

Five hundred whatevers of storage space that couldn’t possibly be right.

Gilbert glanced at the clock. Five ‘til six. Store closed at seven.

He hugged the new phone box to his chest and headed out the door, barely remembering to grab his old phone and keys. 

Passive aggressive phone or no, he wasn’t an idiot. Let it haunt him. He apparently wasn’t in the business of forgetting Ludwig any time soon.

Even so it took Gilbert almost five minutes to fight with his pride enough to ask the patient woman behind the counter at the cell store to switch his information over. And another six to take the phone back once she was done doing that. All the way to his house Gilbert argued with himself about how this was different, this wasn’t like accepting the hotel because the hotel hadn’t really been a choice at all, had it, and plus this was a year and a half later, and plus there was no reason for Ludwig to be nice to him after he’d smashed his phone against the man’s face and really even if this was just a passive aggressive phone, accepting it was really showing that he was the bigger man. The bigger man who threw tempter tantrums, but still.

By the time he hopped off the bus he was reasonably secure in his decision. More so when he noticed both Bel and Eliza’s shoes still missing from the front door. Meant he would be alone for the rest of the night, most likely.

One microwave pizza and stale beer later, however, and he remembered why he had been smart to hesitate.

He hadn’t backed his contacts up to the server thing for a very long time.

About a year and eight months.

So there, sitting in the middle of his contacts list, was Ludwig’s number.

Gilbert slowly chewed on his rubbery pizza. The TV was on in the background. Sports. Two teams he didn’t give a shit about, which wasn’t really all that unusual considering he only cared about a grand total of three over all the different sports types that existed.

Did Ludwig still have his number. Or had he deleted it within the month like Gilbert had. For a while Gilbert had kept it written on a Post-It note in his office. A safety net in case he wanted to ever send a series of scathing texts or something. But then one day he’d left it out and the cleaning crew had thrown it away and he couldn’t remember if it was eight four or four eight and didn’t have the courage to try both. And slowly the numbers slid from his memory, and after a while he was even glad to see them go.

But there they were again. And it was eight four, so that answered that year old question.

Gilbert pushed aside the rest of the pizza and sipped at his beer. He stared at the numbers. He’d already given himself a gold-star for being the bigger man and accepting the phone. Dare he risk two with a heartfelt text message of gratitude.

He tapped Ludwig’s number, expecting the SMS app to pop open.

Instead, the phone began to ring.

Gilbert froze, staring at the screen. If Ludwig had his number still, he’d see that he called. Which was bad. If he didn’t, he should just hang up. But then there was the chance of Ludwig calling back because he was an obsessive man, like a bloodhound really when it came to unknown numbers calling on his phone since he gave the number away to so few people and most of them were of high enough security level that they could be alone with the president. Level a million or whatever it was. Gilbert was probably a level three, probably the only level three to have Ludwig’s number and it was still ringing –

Just as Gilbert made to hit the hang up button, a voice answered. A deep, rich voice. Tired.

/Hello?/

It wasn’t Ludwig’s.

Gilbert fumbled with the phone, for some reason not wanting to be rude to this stranger who couldn’t see him and would never know his name or face.

“Hello – sorry, I think I have a wrong number,” he said quickly.

/Gilbert?/

The voice knew his name.

/You’re in Ludwig’s contacts. Were you trying to get a hold of him? I’m afraid he can’t come to the phone just this instant./

“Yes. No. I – sure,” Gilbert stammered. “You can maybe say I didn’t call—”

/If you have a message you need to get to him I can pass it on./ The voice continued as though it hadn’t heard his stuttering. As though it were used to being the Voice that Mattered. /But I’m afraid to tell you that we’ve suffered a bit of an accident. He’s in the hospital now. Nothing too serious./

“An accident?” Panic overwhelmed Gilbert before he realized the man must have been talking about the car accident. Obviously. 

But he’d said ‘we.’ “We have suffered a bit of an accident.” And as pompous as the man sounded, it was doubtful he was using the royal ‘we.’ 

In an instant Gilbert recognized the voice. The one that had called Sarah “sunshine” in the hospital.

His stomach clenched.

Richard.

/…Did you have something you needed to pass on to him?/

“What?” Gilbert panicked again. “Yes – I think, just tell him I said thank you. You don’t need to mention my name.”

A long pause.

/ I’m afraid I don’t understand the point of the message if I keep your name out of it, but I will pass your sentiments along all the same. Take care./

He hung up.

Gilbert listened to the slight static.

Hung up.

Just like that.

“…What a fucking prick.”

Gilbert scowled and drained his beer before heading to the fridge to grab another one. Prick. Total prick, made sense that Ludwig would date one of his own. Probably met at a prick convention. Keynote speakers on the prick panel.

Gilbert cracked open the beer, taking a deep swig as another thought decided to assail him.

His number was apparently still saved in Ludwig’s phone. But also apparently Ludwig hadn’t mentioned him to his new boyfriend. Doubtful someone like that would have bothered picking up the phone if he’d seen the name of his boyfriend’s ex splashed across the phone screen. More likely he would’ve simply headed straight to his notary to begin filing the breakup papers.

Gilbert licked his lips free of beer, turned the TV station to reality garbage, sat on the couch.

Number saved. And Gilbert’s identity a secret. Would’ve been easy enough for Ludwig to simply say he was his ex. No need to bring up the whole brother issue. Why else would he bother to keep him a secret. They’d dated for a while. Surely Ludwig’s current boyfriends would have questions about his exes. Ludwig had certainly asked Gilbert enough about his when they’d been dating.

Gilbert stared at the elaborate house being redecorated on his television. He didn’t understand Ludwig. That was the conclusion it had taken him a year and a half to come to. He did not understand the man. Didn’t understand his motivations, his thought processes, his priorities. When they were dating people often commented on how similar the two of them were. Both temperamental, both organized, both goal-oriented.

But even though they were short tempered, liked to shop for and utilize overly complex storage options, and worked too hard, Gilbert had started to suspect that their cores were fundamentally different. Ludwig was short tempered because he demanded perfection from others. Gilbert, because he demanded it from himself. Ludwig was organized because that was how his mother and father had insisted he keep his room, their house. Gilbert, because he was always moving, had to keep his things together or else something could have gotten left behind. Goals and work. Ludwig, to impress his parents, his politician grandfather. Gilbert, just in case he could time-travel and go back in time and help his younger self, in and out of the hospital. Some half-assed attempt to super-hero himself the only way that existed in reality.

Ludwig. External.

Gilbert. Internal.

No overlap. No chance of really understanding. 

And yet.

Gilbert glanced at the phone, next to him on the couch.

And yet sometimes. Only sometimes, in the past, Ludwig knocked on that internal door.

Gilbert shook his head to clear it of that line of thinking. It had been more or less all he’d done for months. He was done ruminating. He distracted himself with another beer, another hour of home improvement television.

The phone rang.

Gilbert glanced at the screen, expecting it to be Eliza telling him (again, even though he told her to please not bother) that she was spending the night at Bel’s.

Ludwig Schmidt

Gilbert stared at the name that had not graced his phone in months. He’d been tempted to change the contact entry to something more fitting Ludwig’s garbage can sludge of a personality, but he had refrained, preferring the feeling of superiority restraint bought him.

Now he was regretting his maturity.

And now, the more pressing issue.

Should he answer.

Ludwig used to have a customized ring tone. A quote from Indiana Jones that had driven Ludwig nuts. Gilbert had found it hilarious. Now it was just the generic ring. Tinny and very 1950s sitcom.

It had been ringing for a while. How many rings did it take until the voice message kicked in? And wasn’t his voice message something clipped and depressed sounding—

Gilbert quickly answered.

0:00

0:01

0:02

0:03

/Hello?/

0:06

0:07

/Hello? Gilbert?/

0:11

0:12

Gilbert watched the numbers climb, his phone still in his hand. He could hang up. It would be the immature thing to do. Never let Ludwig hear his voicemail. Never let him hear his voice.

Gilbert pressed the phone to his ear.

“…Hey.”

0:21

0:22

0:23

A deep sigh.

/Hey. I didn’t – I wasn’t sure if you were going to pick up./

“Well. I did.”

Gilbert tugged his knees against his chest, watching the happy do-it-yourself couple on TV lecture a few newlyweds on proper foundation repair. Listening to Ludwig laugh. More of an unsure chuckle, really, but it still made Gilbert’s stomach clench. Painfully. Bitterly. Shade of nostalgia thrown in there too. Pride. Depression.

Gilbert sighed and muttered, “First time a laugh’s made me depressed. Glad my metamorphosis into Anti-Patch-Adams is almost complete.”

/What was that?/

“Nothing. Did you need something.”

/Oh. Rick said you called. He passed on your message but… I don’t know. I wanted to apologize. It probably wasn’t fun for you to have him answer the phone when you were expecting me./

“It wasn’t not fun,” Gilbert said. He rested his chin on his knees. “He’s more nasal than I was expecting. That’s all. In that recording to his daughter it was hard to tell. Tiny cell phone speakers being what they are.”

Another laugh. This one uncomfortable.

/His voice and face don’t really match. I could send you a picture, or—/

“That won’t be necessary.”

1:03

1:04

1:05

1:06

/Why did you call, Gilbert./

1:13

1:14

“To thank you. I think. I don’t really remember.” Gilbert paused.

1:25

1:26

1:27

“And – and to apologize. I guess. I know I’m not the poster child for mature conflict resolution but I thought I’d at least outgrown my throwing objects like a toddler phase. Even if you did deserve it.”

1:49

1:50

1:51

1:52

1:53

1:54

Gilbert frowned and glanced at his phone. The numbers were still climbing.

“Ludwig?”

/Yeah – yes. Yeah, I mean. I’m here./

Gilbert bit back a snort.

“What was that?”

/It – ugh. There’s… some of my speech. Ticks, we’ll call them. That Richard isn’t a fan of. I’ve been working on sounding more professional outside of conference rooms./

Gilbert rolled his eyes and muttered, “Prick,” before he could really sensor himself. 

2:13

2:14

/Was… was that directed at me or at—/

“Oh, both of you, don’t worry,” Gilbert muttered. He tapped his finger against his phone and then muttered, “But mostly him. Making you fix your speech – micromanaging douchebag.”

Laughter.

2:26

2:27

2:28

/Still a little… what did you call it. Salty? From when I told you that ‘janked up’ was not appropriate for a formal report about a child’s spleen?/

“Yes!” Gilbert burst out, and then, to his surprise, he found himself snorting. A single snort of laughter. “The kid didn’t even really need surgery or anything because, if you recall, the exact language was ‘only mildly janked up’ so I wasn’t being disrespectful or crass or – or what else did you call it—”

/Prepubescently obtuse./

“Yes! Yes, that was it! God I was – I was so irritated because I was tired but I remember thinking ‘only he would make up a five-syllable word at three AM just to get me to revise one line in a report.’”

/It was at three in the morning, wasn’t it. I can’t believe I used to work on your schedule sometimes…/

“Perilous, it is. Dating a resident.”

/Yeah. Richard—/

3:09

3:10

3:11

/Sorry./

“It’s all right.”

/I don’t mean to keep bringing him up./

“I don’t care.”

/I don’t even want to talk about him./

3:21

3:22

/You probably don’t want me to talk about him either./

Gilbert shook his head, but said, “I don’t care.”

/Yes – yeah. You do./

Gilbert bristled.

“Don’t tell me I care—”

/You’d tell me – even though we’re. We’re like this. You’d tell me if you were… seriously in trouble. I hope you still would./

“Seriously in trouble. What is that politician code for suicidal? Fuck off.”

/There. See, you’re still so hostile. After so long, I’m not—/

“Quit telling me what I am!”

4:00

4:01

4:02

4:03

4:04

/You’re right./

Gilbert tightened his grip around his phone.

“I know I am.”

/You are. I know that. I… I knew that. Then, too./

Gilbert slid back in the chair until his head was hanging off the arm rest. Legs crossed. Uncomfortable. Like a teenage girl on the phone in a late 90s movie.

4:18

/I don’t know how to ask this without sounding… privileged./

“Maybe don’t ask it, then.”

/I have to – I know it’s selfish but I’m sorry I—/

“What is it.”

4:27

/Am I allowed to be worried about you?/

Bile rose in Gilbert’s throat. Privileged. Privileged covered it.

“Allowed. Are you allowed to be worried about me. Where the fuck is all of this permission bullshit coming from? You didn’t need permission to slice my entire existence out of your life – except for your phone contacts, apparently. And good job hiding who I am from Richard, by the way, very super sleuth of you—”

/Fine. Sorry I asked./

5:05

5:06

Gilbert squeezed his eyes shut.

“Why would you even ask that. We haven’t talked in over a year, I was horrible today. Like some fucking kid with a grudge. People break up all the time. People who are happy break up. We weren’t special.”

5:15

/No. We were./ Clipped. Blunt.

5:22

/And I asked because, while your coworkers may be too intimidated by you or polite to say anything, your shirt had stains on it, you’ve lost weight. You looked—/

“I know how I look.”

/Then you should know why I asked./

Gilbert swallowed heavily, his eyes burning.

“Are you trying to get me to feel ashamed? Because if so, bravo. Brava, whichever pretentious bullshit congratulations you want. No, Ludwig, it hasn’t been easy, but I’m doing fine. Thank you for your concern.”

/Is Eliza there? You’re living with her, right?/

“Wh—how do you know—”

/She sent me a letter a while ago. Only a few sentences but she seemed to think I’d appreciate an update./

“Oh.”

Gilbert scrubbed at his eyes.

“…Did you?”

6:07

6:08

/…I still have the letter. It—it isn’t even from you. And it’s months old and I’m pretty sure she spit in it. But I still have it./

Gilbert pressed his hand against his face.

“She probably did spit in it,” he mumbled. “She would. She had to deal with me obsessed for so long.”

/Gilbert./

His chest tightened.

“Y-Yeah.”

/I—…/

6:40

6:41

/…I have to go. I’m sorry./

“Okay.”

/You’ll be all right? Is Eliza there?/

“Yeah. And no, she’s with Bel.”

7:01

“They’re dating now.”

/Who?/

“Eliza and Bel. My nurse – well not. Not my nurse. The hospital’s nurse. One of them.”

/I remember Bel./

“Yeah.”

/She’s cute./

“She is. Eliza won’t fucking shut up about how cute she is.”

/Ah. That sounds…/

“Trying.”

/Yes. Exhausting./

“Yeah.”

8:24

/Do you want me to stay on?/

“No. You’ve got stuff to do. And I should get to bed.”

/All right./

8:56

/I’m worried about you, Gilbert./

“So I gathered.”

/You’d tell me –/

“You would be the last person I would tell if I were having problems.”

/Right./

A breath.

/Well, I’ll hang up now—/

“Ludwig.”

9:12

9:13

9:14

9:15

/Yeah./

Quiet.

“That list is really short. Of people I’d tell.”

9:29

9:30

“And I don’t – before today I wouldn’t have though so but you’re still on it. Last, but. Still there.”

/Oh./

9:47

9:48

/Thank you./

“Yeah. So don’t worry too much. It’s not worth it. And thanks for the phone. Guess that’s… that was why you called.”

/Yes. But I do need to go. I’m sorry./

“I don’t care.”

10:03

/I have to go./

“Yeah you said that.”

10:08

10:09

/Good night, Gilbert. Try – no. Never mind. Sorry. Just good night./

10:15

Gilbert pulled the phone away from his mouth, his breathing ragged. Two breaths to calm down, to feel normal. The new normal he’d struggled to build and that Ludwig had waltzed in and completely. Shattered. Fucking oblivious bastard.

“Night, Ludwig. Sleep well.”

Perfunctory. Gilbert knew Ludwig felt that, stretched out in the silence. The numbers crawling up the screen. Distance, distance distant. 

/Thank you./

Gilbert’s eyes widened in surprise, the two words stifling the numbers that threatened to crawl up.

Grateful. Warm, warm warmth.

It blossomed in Gilbert’s chest, Ludwig’s voice. Relieved and a little embarrassed. Shy, like Gilbert remembered from that first night. Drunk on his couch, disoriented and trusting.

/Good night, Gilbert. Sleep well./

10:36

10:36

10:36

Gilbert blinked his eyes, the flashing numbers swimming in his vision.

Ten and a half minutes.

Gilbert pressed the phone against his chest, slowly falling back again against the arm of the chair. He stared at the ceiling.

Lately he’d been falling asleep in the chair nine times out of ten. Curled up in uncomfortable positions that hurt his neck, his spine. Ensured he slept in fits, maybe only two or three hours at a time. 

He glanced at the phone screen again.

10:36

Gilbert pushed himself out of the chair. Washed his face, brushed his teeth. Changed the sheets on his bed, drew the blinds. 

He slid under the covers, his phone on the pillow next to him. 

Closed his eyes, exhaustion overwhelming him, and all he could see was the numbers. 

10:36

10:36

10—


	15. FIFTEEN

“—and then there’s a big—a big ‘splosion—”

“It’s pronounced ‘explosion,’ kiddo. With an ‘x.’”

“—a big ex ‘splosion. And then – then Belle jumps out the castle window and has the candlestick Loomeer and she’s yelling and she WHACKS! Right in his dumb face!”

Sarah gestured emphatically, almost knocking over the IV stand next to her bed. Gilbert quickly grabbed her arm and gave her a little high five to calm her down.

“So that’s how you wish Gaston had died?” he asked. He checked her vitals before she got wound up again. The other kid in the recovery room stirred but didn’t wake up. A miracle considering how loudly Sarah was talking.

“Yes!” she said. Flailing resumed. “Yes he just got to fall which isn’t fair since he was such a jerk! It’s my favorite movie but the end is so…” She let out a shriek to show her displeasure rather than search for a better word. Once the noise had dissipated into the hospital walls Sarah slumped down against the pillows and made a face. “Ludwig is like Gaston,” she complained. “He’s too smiley. Like he has a creepy mask on. And he won’t let me read books at the table.”

“Is that so?” Gilbert managed to keep his voice from cracking. “That’s not the villain I would have picked for Ludwig, but I respect your decision.”

Sarah gave him a questioning look but fell silent. Her tiny fingers plucked at the blue hospital blanket, eyes downcast and brows furrowed in thought. Gilbert took advantage of her silence to do a quick checkup on the other patient. The numbers swam before his vision as his eyes stung from exhaustion. He could hear the nurses pacing outside the room. They were waiting to kick him out the moment Sarah was picked up. It was her last day in the recovery ward. She had insisted Gilbert stay with her. She hated Berwald (unsurprising – most children did) and had screamed until a desperate nurse had rung Gilbert up at home and all but begged him to come back to the hospital. Union rules apparently didn’t matter when a prominent investment banker’s daughter was throwing a tantrum. Or that he’d pulled a full night shift immediately before.

“Doctor Gilbert?”

Gilbert turned to face the girl again. She was staring up at him, a shrewd look in her eye.

“Yes?”

Her shrewd look grew shrewdier. 

“Do you know Ludwig a lot?”

Just the conversation he was hoping to have with a six year old when he barely had the brain cells left to stand upright.

Gilbert picked up her chart and pretended to scan it. Nonchalantly. It may have been upside down. He couldn’t tell.

“What makes you ask, Miss Sarah?” 

“You said Gaston’s not who you’d pick for Ludwig… which means there is someone you’d pick. Which means you probably do know him pretty good,” Sarah said, ticking each reason off on her fingers as she spoke. It would have been adorable if she hadn’t been trying to Nancy Drew him into confessing rather delicate information. 

“You have a point,” Gilbert said. He put his clipboard down and gave the girl a disarming smile. “Yes, I do know him—”

“How?”

Damn she was fast.

“We were friends,” he finally said. “A long time ago.”

Sarah made a little noise to show she’d heard.

“But you’re not friends now. Or Dad would’ve invited you to his party. He invited Ludwig’s friends.”

Gilbert took a moment to make sure he wasn’t going to accidentally yell at the small child. The small child who was inadvertently tearing his composure to shreds.

“That’s right. We’re not friends anymore. So, Miss Sarah, what’s your second favorite—”

“I’m glad you’re not friends. I don’t like Ludwig’s friends,” Sarah said stubbornly.

Gilbert’s lips twitched up in a smile.

“Because Ludwig’s Gaston?”

“Or worse,” Sarah muttered. “He made my mom leave.”

Gilbert raised an eyebrow at that. He sat next to Sarah’s bed.

“Made your mom leave? How’d he do that?”

Sarah pressed her lips together and for a moment Gilbert thought she was going to cry. Instead her shoulders sagged in a depressingly adult-like gesture of surrender.

“Maybe he didn’t,” she said finally. “I have to think about it more careful. She might’ve left before Dad met him but… but it was close together. Real close…”

Gilbert lightly patted her hand but kept silent. Ludwig breaking up a marriage. Didn’t sound much like him, but the Ludwig Gilbert knew was well over a year old by that point. Maybe modern day Ludwig got his jollies listening to prenup arguments.

“Well,” Gilbert said finally, “if you’re having trouble remembering then I don’t think it’s very nice to blame Ludwig for something he might not have even done.” He gave the girl a little wink. “Blame him for something he definitely did do. Like hog the TV remote. He used to do that all the time. Or correct your pronunciation. Or alphabetize his sock collection. Or have a sock collection at all.”

Sarah’s mouth fell open slightly before she clamped a hand over her mouth and let out a loud snort of laughter.

“He does steal the remote! All he wants to watch is—”

“TV shows about historical boat disasters?”

“Yeah! Boats, why’s he like boats he doesn’t even have one! He told me, he said it was—… im…um…”

“Impractical?”

Sarah nodded and made a face, her nose scrunched up with laughter. But slowly her features evened out until they more resembled the rather listless child Gilbert had met that first day after her surgery. The first day when Nurse Williams gently told her that her father couldn’t make visiting hours. 

She began to pluck at the blanket again.

“Why’s my dad like him?”

Quiet and sad. Her voice was dwarfed by the gentle humming of the machines.

Gilbert reached out to gently brush her hair off her forehead and fix her blankets. Not that it mattered. She’d be leaving soon.

“I don’t know, kiddo,” he said. “I only know why I did.”

Sarah stared up at him, her brown eyes narrowing.

“Why’d you like him?” Her voice was a challenge.

Gilbert sighed and sat back in his chair, honestly trying to think. He’d been up for almost forty hours. His thought process resembled nothing more coherent than television static. 

“…I don’t know that I remember,” he said finally. “Because he made a house feel lived in, maybe.”

He could tell from the way Sarah was staring at him that she didn’t understand. She dismissed him after that and turned to stare at the window.

“He’s gonna be there when I go home,” she said quietly. She let out a heavy sigh that rattled her small frame. “I wish you’d be there instead of him. You’d let me watch cartoons…”

“I would,” Gilbert said. He felt the urge to be mature clamber its way over his static brain and for once he indulged it. “But I’m not dating your father. Ludwig is. And he’s… he can be nice.”

Sarah stared at him, her face pinched as though she were tasting betrayal for the first time.

“Nice – he’s not nice! He’s so bossy…”

“He’s used to being in charge,” Gilbert said. A little smile was tugging at his lips. He could feel it. And it was only half warped. “But he’s also—he notices when you do things right. And he’s a really good baker. Great at making hot chocolate too. And he knows like – all the names of the stars. And can tell you politely when you accidentally call a planet a star when you’re trying to show off.”

Sarah fell quiet. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, obviously thinking hard as she stared off into space.

Gilbert let her think. He pulled out his phone, flipped through a few Tweets.

“My dad doesn’t like stars.”

Gilbert pocketed his phone.

“No?”

Sarah shook her head.

“He wouldn’t send me to space camp,” she explained. “And I wanted to go real bad.”

Gilbert raised an eyebrow.

“Aren’t you a little young to go to space camp?”

“Sarah Miller got to go and she’s in my class!”

“Oof. That’s rough.”

“Yeah…”

Sarah tilted her head to the side, her brows furrowing.

“Maybe,” she said slowly. “Maybe Ludwig will let me go…”

There came a knock at the door, and a moment later a nurse stuck her head in. She gave Gilbert a perfunctory smile and then said cheerfully, “Your ride is here to pick you up, Sarah. Say goodbye to Doctor W so we can get you discharged and on your way home.”

Sarah gave a solemn little nod, but her fists grabbed at the blanket and held it tightly. Gilbert waited for her to give a verbal response, and when she didn’t he smiled at the nurse and said, “Thank you, that will be all.”

He thought he saw her roll her eyes as she shut the door. Didn’t matter.

He turned his attention to Sarah. She was still staring straight ahead so he lightly flicked her forehead. She made a little squeaking noise, hands immediately flying up to cover the injured area.

“You hit me!”

“I flicked you,” he corrected. He stood and took a moment to make sure he wasn’t going to pass out.

“All right, Miss Sarah, I’ve gotta go home myself. I haven’t had a nap today.”

“You’re an adult. You don’t nap,” Sarah said sulkily.

“Oh but I do. I’m a champion nap-er.”

Sarah gave him a look that said she didn’t believe him but otherwise didn’t move. Gilbert let out a little sigh and crouched down. He held out his hand.

“I can help you with your crutches again.”

She pursed her lips.

“No. I can do it.”

“Okay. Do you need me for anything else, then?”

His vision was swimming he was so tired. He hadn’t been this exhausted since med school. Amazing how one random patient had him so wrapped around her finger.

The fact that the random patient was his only human tie to Ludwig probably didn’t mean much. And if she talked about him to Ludwig then... Didn’t mean much either. She was just a kid who hated Ludwig. 

Gilbert waited for Sarah to respond, blinking his eyes every few seconds to try and keep them from feeling too much like the Sahara. 

Sarah suddenly reached out and grabbed his shirt sleeve. She held on until her fingers turned white.

“…What if my leg hurts real bad again?’ she asked quietly. “As soon as I get home?”

Gilbert lightly patted her hand and gave her a little smile.

“Then you ask your dad for some of the pills the nurse is going to send home with you.”

“What if they don’t work?”

“They will.”

“What if Dad’s not home?”

“Then you can ask someone else.”

Tears sprang to her eyes. Panicked, microscopic tears.

“W-What if the only one there is Ludwig? What if he doesn’t want to help me?”

“He will,” Gilbert promised. “He’s not a monster, Sarah, he wants to help you—”

“B-But you stopped being his friend, you’re not his friend anymore because he’s a bad person, what if Dad’s not home and my leg stops working and he’s there?!”

She was suddenly bordering on hysterical. Tears no longer microscopic streaming down her cheeks. Gilbert let her hold onto his shirt, too tired to comfort her properly. She was well and truly scared. Breathing coming in choked little gasps.

“Sarah – Miss Sarah, can you take deep breaths for me?”

Sarah shook her head, her small chest shaking as she struggled to breathe.

Gilbert wracked his exhausted brain, tried to dredge up everything he knew about calming children. Nyquil probably not the best solution at the moment.

On a whim he fished out his wallet and grabbed one of his business cards. He scribbled his cellphone number on the back and then held it out to Sarah. She stared at the card, hiccupping like a drowning asthmatic.

“W-What’s that?”

“It’s my phone number. For if Ludwig’s being mean to you and not letting you take your medicine or read books at the table.”

Sarah snatched it out of his hand immediately and inspected it. She absently wiped snot from her nose with the back of her hand.

“Is this real?”

“What?”

“Like the real numbers. I can call it?”

“Sure you can. You’re a rich kid, you probably have your own phone, right?”

Sarah nodded, still clutching the card. Gilbert smiled and gently ruffled her hair.

“Then whenever Ludwig’s being mean – or even your dad. You can call me, okay? And then I’ll call them and tell them that I’m the doctor and they have to listen to me.”

He did his best Berwald impression, adjusting his glasses and straightening his imaginary tie. It made Sarah laugh, her earlier panic all but forgotten.

“You’re weird,” she said. “But nice so it’s okay.”

“Weird and nice. I’ll take it.”

Gilbert patted her head one last time and then stood, swaying on his feet.

“All right, Miss Sarah. It’s been wonderful having you here but I’m sure you miss your bed and all your stuffed animals and dolls and whatever.”

“Yeah…”

Sarah scooted to the edge of the bed, and Gilbert could feel her eyes on him as he headed to the door. 

“Doctor W?”

Gilbert paused, his hand on the handle. He glanced over his shoulder at the small girl perched on the edge of the bed, her cast seemingly forgotten. She pointed to the card.

“Can I show this to Ludwig?”

Gilbert frowned.

“To Ludwig? You can, but he already has my number, kiddo.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Gilbert watched the girl fiddle with his card for a moment. He debated whether or not to ask why. Curiosity won.

“Why would you want to show Ludwig?”

Sarah frowned and turned the card over in her hands a few times.

“’Cause… maybe if Ludwig had a friend again, he wouldn’t be around my house so much,” she mumbled, sounding like she knew she should be more apologetic. Gilbert snorted and said dryly, “Reminding him that I exist in the world would probably just make him stick around your house even more, champ. Sorry to say.”

Sarah’s shoulders slumped in defeat but she nodded and mumbled a contrite, “Okay.”

Gilbert heard the approaching footsteps of the nurse and sensed his impending ousting. He glanced at the girl one last time.

“Will you be all right, Miss Sarah?”

Sarah glanced up at him. Nodded once.

Gilbert raised an eyebrow.

“Promise?”

She nodded again and crossed her heart.

Gilbert gave her a tired smile.

“Ready to go, Miss Sarah?”

She pushed herself out of bed, balancing on one foot. She gave him a wobbly salute just as the door opened.

“Ready, Doctor W.”

-x-

"Mr. Weillschmidt?"

He started badly. The razor-sharp edge of the magazine he was holding sliced across the pad of his index finger. Swearing quietly he jammed his finger in his mouth as he stood. The intake receptionist offered him a polite smile, her eyes glassy and unfocused. She gestured towards the other end of the waiting room.

"She's ready for you. It's the second door on the left, just a reminder."

Gilbert shook out his hand and headed toward the door. One of three lining the short hallway.

"Thank you, Edwina."

"It's pronounced 'Kate,' Mr. Weillschmidt."

"No one with half-moon glasses is named ‘Kate.’ Only Edwinas and Dumbledors have those," Gilbert called out over her shoulder. Receptionist Kate didn't smile. Her loss.

Behind the Second Door on the Left lay two high back chairs, a rolltop desk, and a pleather couch. The pleather couch was flaking in places and sagging in the middle. Heavy drapes flanked the two tall windows, faded, but clean and free of dust. Hardwood floors squeaked in places, their noise muffled by a Persian rug that had likely been expensive at one point but now looked more like something a mobster would roll around a dead body and chuck over a bridge. Every surface of the small room was coated in a thin veneer of stale cigar smoke. The miniature "No Smoking" signs peppered in between the books lining the built-ins were a nice ironic touch. 

Gilbert avoided the couch and took a seat in one of the two high-backed chairs. He hugged a decorative pillow to his chest. The small mirrors sewn into the brocade fabric dug a bit into his skin. The pillows, at least, had been spared the cigar smoke. They smelled like the rose candles on the coffee table instead. Placed there, no doubt, by the young doctor behind the rolltop desk in the corner. Cigar smoke didn't really fit her image.

Gilbert let his head fall to the side until it rested snugly against the back of the chair. 

For a psychiatrist office that specialized in treating other doctors the place was remarkably shabby. But it had most likely felt shabby since the day it was built. Probably came pre-equipped with dust motes to match the dark stain of the wood.

The chair behind the rolltop desk squeaked as the doctor stood. Heels clacking against the wooden floors, a whiff of cloyingly floral perfume that clawed its way up into Gilbert's nostrils as she passed. The doctor sat down in the other seat, her legs crossed at the ankles.

Gilbert supposed from her voice, the run in her stockings, and the heavy handed perfume she wore that she had a face that matched. Kind. Young and kind, full lips to match her full voice and sharp, dark eyes that had dismissed the run in her stockings as unimportant. She'd worn the same pair the last three times he had been there. That or all her stockings had runs. Either scenario was equally possible.

"Doctor Weillschmidt."

Gilbert nodded slightly.

"Doctor Laksa."

Her foot tapped against the Persian rug.

"How did you do this week?"

Gilbert closed his eyes.

"You know when you've been outside in the cold and your fingers go numb and then you go inside and you wash your hands and even though the water is lukewarm it feels like it's burning hot? Or if the water's anything above lukewarm it makes your whole hand feel like it's not even there? Like it's just... it's ghost hand. Sometimes kinda tingly."

He heard her pen scritch scratch across the pad of paper.

"I have some idea, yes."

"Okay. Like that."

"Like that?"

"Ghost hand. But more like ghost... ghost body."

"And that's how you did this week."

Gilbert nodded and pressed his face against the pillow.

"That really isn't much of an answer, Doctor. Can you engage a bit more?"

"I didn't have much of a week. Can’t engage if there's nothing there."

More scratching. 

"Did you make the box? The panic box I told you about?"

Gilbert clicked his tongue in annoyance.

"Yes."

"Are you lying?"

"Yes."

"You don't have to make it."

"I'm going to make it."

"I told you at the beginning of our first session that a lot of what I give you are suggestions. Not prescriptions."

Gilbert waved his hand to show he'd heard. Doctor Laksa made a note of it.

"I said last week I would be really appreciative if you would try meeting my gaze. It doesn't have to be for long. Would you mind trying today?"

Gilbert shook his head.

"No. Thanks, though. I'm sure you're very attractive. You shouldn't need me to verify that for you."

"Not even for a few seconds? It's part of building rapport, but if you're not comfortable--"

"No."

Gilbert pressed his face against the chair.

"Don't ask me again, Doctor. I'm serious."

More scratching.

"Do you mind telling me why you're so resistant to the idea of making eye contact with me?"

Irritation spiked. Gilbert dug his fingers into the pillow a bit deeper. One of the little mirrors broke free of its stitching. Its edges were surprisingly rough.

"Isn't it your job to comfort me? The fuck am I paying you for if I have to be the one that—"

Gilbert bit his lip and swallowed the rest of his words. He'd already had his breakdown that week. Hadn't been able to hold it in until therapy so. Quota exceeded. It was fine.

Scritch scratch. 

He was going to break that fucking pen.

"Has she been discharged yet?"

Gilbert felt Sarah’s drawing in his pocket. Could see her smile, the bright balloons. She'd clutched their string so tightly. A nanny had come to pick her up. Full uniform and everything. Complete with papers signed by Richard authorizing the nanny as Sarah’s agent.

Gilbert still hadn't met the man himself.

"That was this week, wasn't it? That Sarah was going to be discharged?"

"Yeah."

Gilbert sat up enough to fish around in his pocket. He pulled out the drawing and rested it on the coffee table, in between the rose candles.

"Going away present," he explained. He watched her slim hand pick up the drawing to examine it. "I get them from a lot of kids. Have a whole collection on my fridge."

"Are all of them this graphic?"

"You mean do all the kids draw their accident? No. Not many."

Doctor Laksa set the drawing on the table again. One manicured nail gestured to a figure.

"And this is you?"

"Lab coat and dashing figures. I have to assume."

Her finger moved.

"And this?"

A tiny figure tucked in the corner. Blonde hair. Added as almost an afterthought. The figure's arm was outstretched towards the others. It looked almost like another child.

"Ludwig. Since I'm assuming this brown smear in the middle is her dad."

The doctor pushed the paper towards him and Gilbert quickly stowed it back in his pocket.

"She seems to have taken quite a shine to you."

"Most kids do. But her especially, I guess."

Gilbert closed his eyes again.

"Probably since we have a common enemy. There's your rapport builder, Doctor."

"Did he come by the hospital this week? You speculated that he might be the one to pick her up."

"No. Her nanny did. Not sure if ol' mystery Dick or if Ludwig was the one who made that executive call. Either way."

"So you haven't been in contact with Ludwig?"

"Couple of texts."

"Oh?"

Gilbert's eye twitched. He sat up, sitting cross-legged in the chair.

"No need to sound so titillated, Doctor. Nothing untoward happened."

"I'm sorry if you thought--"

"For a shrink you're sorry an awful lot, you know that? Wonder how much one of your 'sorry's would weigh against one of mine. You killed any of your patients, Doctor?"

"Gilbert, remember your breathing."

"Oh right, my breathing, fucking thank you, Doctor, almost forgot about that basic fucking function–"

"Gilbert, pillow."

Gilbert looked down. His fingers were wrapped around the pillow in his lap. Throttling it. Knuckles white.

He slowly loosened his grip. Let his hands rest in his lap. His heart was racing so fast inside his chest it felt like it was going to shatter his ribs. 

For some reason his jaw was moving on its own. Opening and closing, shifting side to side, teeth dragging against each other with each pass.

A box of tissues appeared in his vision. Slid across the table like a hockey puck. He plucked one out of its thin cardboard box. Shredded it between his fingers.

"I don't even feel angry anymore," he said. "But my body just. It keeps going – like everything is suddenly shoved off a cliff and I can't control it. I don't mean to be like this, I don't. Want. This."

"Did you have this sort of physiological reaction when you were working with Sarah?"

Gilbert shook his head.

"No. Never."

"What about when he messages you? Do you feel out of control?"

Gilbert smoothed his fingers over the pillow. The loose mirror popped back into place.

"Sometimes," he said. "Sometimes it. I don't know. If I were more religious or whatever I'd probably think I was being possessed. I didn't think it was possible to be that angry. Especially not just because of one thing."

"Why do you still feel that it's 'just one thing'?"

"Because it's just Ludwig!"

Gilbert fisted a hand in his hair, momentarily furious at himself for yelling before he got his temper under control. He tried again.

"It's just Ludwig. I've lumped him in with all these stupid associations with my childhood and being sick but he's not responsible for any of that. It's stupid to be so angry at him. I'm not even angry! God I – I haven't been angry in weeks. Honest to god weeks. He's just a contact in my phone now who sends me the occasional nonsequitor and asks if I've eaten or whatever."

The scratching was back. Gilbert crossed his arms over his chest.

"What the fuck was in that statement that was worth jotting down?"

"He asks about your health? Reminds you to eat?"

"Yeah," Gilbert muttered. "That's what most of his messages are. When they aren't about Sarah. Although I guess those will stop now."

"He sounds concerned about you."

"It's just his weird guilt complex," Gilbert said. He picked up his pillow again and fiddled with a loose thread. "It's why he interacts with me at all. It's why he got me that hotel room, it's why he got me that phone even though I'm the one that broke it. Maybe it's a Catholic thing, I dunno. I don't want to look too closely at it."

"Why not?"

Gilbert felt his stomach clench. Like he was going to be sick. Another physiological reaction he didn't understand. They kept blindsiding him.

"I don't know."

Scritch scritch scritch.

"Do you want to hazard a guess?"

More bile. Gilbert pulled at the pillow thread.

"I don't know," he said again, his throat full of acid. "I really don't. Maybe because if I look too closely it'll be too in focus."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Like – that he's asking only out of guilt. That that's all he's going to be capable of ever. That – that it's like how I get so angry. And I can't control it but what if he gets the same way? What if he gets so incredibly mad and this guilt – this asking after me, that's how he deals instead of blowing all his money on fuckin' therapy?! What if he still hates me?! He has to, right? He has to – he hates me he hates me and it hurts so badly I – fuck I think I'm going to throw up–"

A plastic waste bucket skidded to a halt next to his chair. Gilbert eyed it for a moment, not sure if he should feel insulted or grateful. A few deep breaths and he wrested control back. His skin felt like he’d been dumped in a bucket of ice water but at least his dignity was still semi-intact.

Gilbert sat up straight again and rested his pillow on his lap.

“Sorry about that. I don’t really have a rational guess, is how I should have answered.”

He could feel the doctor’s disapproving gaze. She probably liked having him as a patient. Meant she didn’t need to try and maintain an ever-calm look of sympathy.

“It might be helpful if you stay with those feelings rather than push them down. You need to try and engage, Doctor.”

“If engaging means throwing up in front of someone who took Psych 101 and for some deluded reason decided to pursue it beyond sorority-girl-curiosity level, then I’ll have to pass.”

“If you don’t engage, I can’t help you. You’re only wasting time and money—”

“I said I’ll pass, Daphne. And is it really in your best interest to remind your patients how much money they’re wasting? I mean, ‘A’ for ethics and all but Garnier’s best fire-engine red hairdye won’t buy itself.”

The scratching stopped. Gilbert could feel her, tense and staring at him. He rolled his eyes and nudged the wastebasket forward with the toe of his shoe.

“Drugstore receipt on the top of your half-eaten salad. That and you shed to an alarming degree. Either that or you need to fire your cleaning crew. Not exactly CSI-level deduction work needed.”

“Do you enjoy unsettling people, Doctor?”

Gilbert snorted and tugged the pillow to his chest.

“Not to sound all poorly-written-super-villain, but if I wanted to unsettle you, Doctor, I’d just tell you why I was here.”

The scratching resumed. He must have appeased her somehow.

“Do you want me to guess?”

“You can’t guess,” Gilbert said flatly. “But go ahead. This is confidential, right. That little tape recorder doesn’t leave this office?”

“It doesn’t.”

“Guess away.”

Her pen tapped against her notepad.

“A string of failed relationships would be my first guess, in addition to Ludwig.”

Gilbert held up a finger. A point for her.

“I bet half your doctor patients have that as their first symptom. Kind of part of the profession.”

“True. It is something of a gimmie.”

Tap tap tap

“Childhood trauma.”

Gilbert held up two fingers.

“You’re lucky I fit the stereotype of the mental patient so well. Otherwise this might actually be a challenge.”

“You said I wouldn’t be able to guess. Do you mind if I ask why?”

“Details are a little less stereotypical.” Gilbert made a face. “At least I hope so. For humanity’s sake.”

Taptap tap

“Family troubles as well. Family trauma.”

Three fingers.

“Ludwig’s family.”

Four fingers.

“Disapproval of the relationship.”

Three fingers.

“Disapproval of you specifically.”

Three fingers.

“Disapproval of the breakup.”

Three fingers.

“Disapprov—”

“You can stop there.”

Gilbert lowered his hand and let it rest atop the pillow again.

“It’s not something I’m ever going to say aloud.”

A clattering noise as a pen skipped across the table, landing in front of his shin. 

He stared at it in mild disgust.

“Or on paper. And you can spare yourself the repair bill and refrain from hucking your computer at me. I’m not conveying it. And you can’t guess, so.”

Doctor Laksa crossed her legs. The run in her stockings crept up her knee.

“So we’re at an impasse.”

Gilbert crossed his arms.

“Looks like.”

Doctor Laksa’s pen resumed its scratching.

“Then we’re going to do what I suggested during our first session. We’re going to work on building your toolkit for dealing with stressors.”

“Wonderful. So glad I’m paying you to teach me about the magical world of metaphors.”

“This week I want you to try engaging with Ludwig. Since you are having difficulty not responding to him, it is important that you learn how best to do so. If he texts you, set your phone aside for a bit and do some of your refocusing exercises. Then return to the phone and compose your reply, then set the phone aside again. The key is to try and keep impulsivity in check. Acknowledge your anger, and then let it go.”

“You got it, Yoda. No dark side this week.”

“And if you’re feeling up to it—” Doctor Laksa continued as though she hadn’t heard him, “—then you may want to take your friend up on her suggestion. Even if nothing comes of it, going out could also be a form of letting go.”

Gilbert bristled slightly at the suggestion, and grew even more irritated with himself when he realized he was waiting to calm down before speaking. Playing right into her stupid, Intro Psych hands.

“Great. I’ll look into that,” he said, voice clipped, and stood. “Thank you for your time, Doctor.”

“You still have several minutes.”

“No, I’m done for the day, thank you. Same time next week?”

Without waiting for her to reply Gilbert headed for the door. 

“Gilbert.”

Gilbert groaned dramatically and pressed his hand against his face.

“Please, Doc, I’ve already done the ‘poignant stopping in the doorframe’ move once today. I’m over quota as it is.”

“There really is little I can do for you – and that you can do for yourself – if you do not engage. Surely you came here hoping to get something out of our sessions? It might help to try and remember that.”

Gilbert lowered his hand and stared at the door.

“Right.”

He let out a quick breath and squared his shoulders.

“Right. Thanks, Doctor.”

He could hear her pen scratching against the clipboard again.

“You have something in mind, then?”

Gilbert nodded and yanked the door open.

“Leverage. Just in case.”

Her pen was still writing as the door clicked shut behind him.

-x-

Gilbert drummed his fingers on the table. Irregular rhythm. They made a hollow tocking sound against the linen tablecloth. Swanky jazz music quickly swallowed the noise. The musicians crammed in a far corner of the restaurant were dressed in the same outfits as the wait staff. Which had made for a very awkward conversation when Gilbert had first arrived. The bassist did not, in fact, know anything about a reservation under “Doctor W And His Ersatz Companion.” 

Gilbert felt his cheeks grow warm at the memory. He shifted his chair a bit more until his back was fully turned to the corner where the magicians were stationed. A simple “I don’t know” would have sufficed. The bassist’s colorful commentary about Gilbert’s pretention level was, in his opinion, slightly unwarranted.

“Another glass of the Bordeaux, sir?”

Gilbert started and glanced up at the waitress standing by his table. He wordlessly eased his glass towards the edge of the table, averting his eyes again. The glass opposite him at the two-person table was empty. Had been for thirty two minutes now. Not that Gilbert was counting. Or embarrassed to be a single person at a table clearly meant for two. Waiting by himself. For thirty two—he checked his watch—thirty seven minutes.

He waited until the stone-faced waitress trundled off elsewhere (she did leave the bottle, which earned her a few points) before he fished his phone out of his pocket. Three new texts. 

Two were from Eliza. 

/Is he there yet? Oh my god Gilbert is he there yet does he match his profile picture or is this a whatever-fish situation?!/  
/Gilbert if you are leaving me in the dark on purpose I am going to be very cross with you. Notice my stern inflection and proper grammar this means I am most definitely serious./

One was not from Eliza.

/Do you have a moment?/

Gilbert studied the text, torn between irritated and relieved. Ludwig had given him five words to work with. Not a lot to completely distract him from his growing embarrassment and desire to move to a less central table until his blind date showed up, but enough to offer a bit of welcome diversion.

Ever since one disastrous attempt to have a civil conversation via text had imploded a month and a half ago, communication between him and Ludwig had been scarce. Hovering more in the scarce-to-none range, if he were to don his realist’s cap (fuck, maybe the bassist was right, his pretention levels were too high to function). 

But even so, Ludwig had become something of a wildcard, especially in the several weeks since Sarah had been discharged from the hospital. At the weirdest times, a /Saw an unusually fat squirrel today./ or a /Why is ‘pistachio’ pronounced the way it is. Infuriating./ would show up on Gilbert’s phone. No explanation or context. If several of the texts hadn’t included his name, Gilbert would have assumed they were meant for someone else. Doctor Laksa thought it was genuine concern on Ludwig’s part. But Doctor Laksa was not privy to all the weird shit Ludwig sent him. The mountains of nonsequitors and attempts at conversation starters that went absolutely nowhere.

Ludwig hadn’t been this direct before in recently memory. Or this coherent. Not even when he was at his most busybodyness. 

Gilbert’s phone buzzed again.

/I know it’s a little presumptuous of me but this time I would like to politely request that you maybe answer. Even just a ‘y’ for ‘yes’ would be all right. Or an ‘f’ for ‘fuck off.’ Whichever./

Gilbert bit his lip as he stared at the text.

First coherent Ludwig message. There was the rush of familiar anger and resentment. His heart was racing in his chest, skin feeling too tight for his body. Fight-or-flight instinct kicking in. But it was almost… half-hearted. Perfunctory. The expected physiological reactions were there, sure, but the passion, the drive to give into them just. Wasn’t.

That, or, the crippling humiliation that was blackening his heart was making any attempt at rage pale in comparison. 

Gilbert mulled over his response for an embarrassing five minutes or so before he finally replied. Long enough that his hands stopped shaking and the resentment-fog that normally clouded his brain had started to dissipate.

/y. but also f./

Ludwig’s reply was immediate.

/Fair, I did set myself up for that. I’m going to assume the y is slightly stronger or you would have just texted back an image of you flipping me off like you did that one time I was in the middle of a meeting. Which was fine. I deserved that./

Gilbert clicked his tongue in irritation. Self-Sacrificial-Ludwig annoyed him almost as much as Self-Righteous-Ludwig. Irritated him but didn’t send him into a psychotic rage anymore. Which was. Progress. Even if he was reluctant to admit it.

He grudgingly gave Doctor Laksa a half a point.

/Just tell me what you want. Despite what you might think I don’t exactly enjoy reading about you flagellating yourself./

/I think I’ve been stood up./

Gilbert stared at Ludwig’s text, not understanding. He took another sip of wine.

/Stood… on? Is this a veiled cry for preposition selection assistance?/

/No. Stood up as in. I’m sitting in a restaurant. Alone. At a table clearly meant for two./  
/I don’t know why I thought it was a good idea to confess that to you./  
/Turns out it’s more embarrassing than simply sitting here and letting it happen to me./  
/Who would have thought./

Gilbert quickly glanced around the restaurant and then spent a few minutes scrutinizing the street beyond the large windows over his shoulder. No sign of Ludwig lurking. Which meant that Ludwig probably wasn’t mocking him. Barring clairvoyance. But Gilbert was fairly sure that if Ludwig had that particular ability he’d use it to save humanity by becoming a martyrism-prone super spy or something else saccharine and awful.

Gilbert worried at his lip, cursing when an old split decided to crack open again and drip blood on his napkin. He quickly sucked on the wound, marveling at how gross he had become. No wonder he was sitting alone in a restaurant. His date had probably walked in, gotten one look at him, and then left. Honestly he would have done the same. He’d only recently started gaining back the weight he’d lost since his and Ludwig’s split. And he was fairly sure that the discount store shampoo he’d been using was actually formulated for guinea pig fur and not for human hair. It had a slightly disagreeable odor that he couldn’t really wash out. And Eliza had left the iron at Bel’s so he’d shrugged on a falsely-advertised wrinkle-free shirt and called it good enough date attire.

Gilbert scrubbed at his eyes and then returned to the text, trying to get over the self-pity ball festering in his stomach.

He typed back.

/So just so I can paint myself an accurate brain-picture, right now you’re sitting alone in a fancy restaurant?/

Ludwig’s reply was so immediate Gilbert was having a hard time not imagining Ludwig hunched desperately over his phone. He’d always been a punctual texter but the complete lack of delay between message reception and message response was borderline otherworldly.

/Yes. The really nice one that just opened up on Charles’ Square. And now I look like a complete idiot. Especially because I’ve been drinking enough wine for two. And am honestly tempted to start using the extra glass to expedite the imbibing process./

/That why you’re texting me?/

/Probably./  
/Yes./  
/I think so. God I’m sorry, I’ll stop. I told myself not to but lately my impulse control has been less than ideal./  
/I’m baking a lot, too./  
/Too much./  
/I don’t know what to do with it all no one I know eats desserts./  
/Which is a shame./  
/Dessert is amazing. But not this much dessert./  
/No one needs this much dessert./  
/The waiter handed me the dessert menu and I nearly ripped his arm off trying to get it away from me I don’t even want to see that word./  
/ I was supposed to stop texting. I’ll stop. I apologize. Again./

Gilbert had to quickly switch his phone to silent for fear of it vibrating itself into pieces. He scrolled though Ludwig’s texts.

“Fuck… he’s a mess,” he muttered to himself, mildly proud that his response to being stood up was to drink wine almost to the point of being sloshed rather than simply charging head-first over that line like Ludwig apparently had. 

He scrolled through the texts again, rereading them in their stumbling, pell-mell waterfalling of words. He ignored a few flashes of irritation, a few clicks of the lighter in his gut that was trying to set him off again towards blind rage. The wine was helping drown the little sparks before they could blaze up properly. And without the blinding light blurring out everything else, he realized with an uncomfortable churning of his innards that there was something nostalgic in Ludwig’s texts. A whisper of the sort of rambling intimacy they’d shared before. And if Gilbert were being honest with himself – and the wine was helping to lubricate those particular empathy cogs as well – it was an intimacy he’d seen in some of Ludwig’s other texts. Inside jokes he’d maybe forgotten. References to places they’d been. Conversation starters that echoed back to something he’d once known but had since been burned and charred to unrecognizability.

Gilbert brushed away a bit of the ash that clung to Ludwig’s tone of voice and odd word choices. And for a moment, a fleeting one that quietly slipped away almost as quickly as it had come, it was two years ago. And he was comfortably, unwaveringly fond of that tone of voice and those odd word choices.

The lighter sparked again as he felt the scar on his hand. Without thinking he snuffed it out. His own suddenness and decisiveness made him start, and for a long while he could only sit in mild shock, waiting warily for the anger to flare up again.

But it stayed quiet. Smoldering, if that.

With a groan Gilbert let his head rest on the table, his insides churning. Also, probably, from the wine. 

He couldn’t let Doctor Laksa know she’d been right about him growing bored of his anger. Or even partly right. She’d probably push harder for him to come twice a week like she wanted. The half a point he’d granted her a few minutes ago would go to the grave with him. Because for whatever reason he really, really didn’t want to be the bigger man. Capable of forgiving and letting go of his anger.

Which was a different level of fucked up and spiteful he wasn’t sure he wanted to directly face again.

Gilbert blindly fumbled for his phone and then dragged it onto his lap so he could read it. Cautiously testing himself to see if his rage would stay at bay.

He reread the texts a third time.

Restaurant on Charles’ Square.

He frowned. A little suspicion took hold.

/Which restaurant/

Ludwig’s reply was immediate again.

/Rou… rou, something. Rousine? I can’t remember./  
/There’s a menu right in front of me I’m an idiot./  
/Rouset’s/

Gilbert bolted upright, his phone clutched in his hand. He stared at the red menu on the table.

Rouset’s.

The waitress chose that moment to come by his table again. Her expression was pinched as though, for some reason, she was dreading interacting with him.

“Another glass of the Bordeaux while you wait—”

“Is there another man here?” Gilbert interrupted her.

She stared at him as though he were an idiot. Before she could reply with what would have no doubt been a mildly sarcastic and thoroughly unhelpful rejoinder Gilbert said, “Another man sitting alone at a table. Blonde? Blue eyes? Stern and probably a little drunk?”

Her eyes lit up. 

“Oh – there must have been some mix up. Is he the other member of your party?”

“Yes.”

The lie slipped out before Gilbert could think it through. He stood up, grabbing his phone. Notification light was on again. Probably another message from Ludwig.

“Would you mind showing me to his table?”

“Of course. Right this way.”

The waitress led him through the packed restaurant (and away from the jazz corner, thank god) to another section, partially hidden behind a divider.

In the corner table, wedged tightly against another large bank of windows, was Ludwig. His phone was on the table next to his bread plate. Both were liberally covered in semolina from a roll that had been haphazardly torn in two. A bottle of wine was chilling next to his table, although it looked to be mostly empty. Ludwig was hunched over his phone, brushing off the little crumbs and muttering to himself. He looked, Gilbert was slightly miffed to note, more composed than his texts had indicated. Tipsiness and semolina aside.

“Should I bring you two the entrée menus?”

Gilbert nodded, not really trusting himself to speak. The waitress either didn’t notice his weird hovering just out of Ludwig’s line of sight or she had seen far, far more disconcerting behavior before. She left without another word.

Gilbert cautiously approached Ludwig’s table, still sticking to Ludwig’s blind spot. Ludwig was wearing a lavender colored tie. Looked like silk. Striped pattern. Very classy. His suit coat was slung over the back of his chair and the sleeves of his collared shirt were rolled up to his elbows. He looked so charmingly disheveled and thoroughly irritated at being alive in his present situation.

Gilbert fiddled with his phone and for a long moment simply watched Ludwig. Ludwig brushed the last of the semolina off his phone’s screen and sent another text. For one, irrational moment, Gilbert was terrified that his phone wasn’t going to light up. It was highly likely he was simply one in a string of people Ludwig was harassing in his tipsy boredom, after all. As Ludwig had liked to remind him during the nastier parts of their breakup, he wasn’t special, he wasn’t Ludwig’s entire world.

Something anxious and tense uncoiled in Gilbert’s chest when he felt his phone buzz in his hand. His phone lit up. And he, like the worst spy possible, was holding it with the screen facing outward.

The sudden change in lighting must have caught Ludwig’s attention. He straightened up and looked towards Gilbert in that unconscious way he had of checking his surroundings. For a moment his gaze fell on Gilbert, unrecognizing. Almost dismissive.

Then his eyes widened. Surprise. Maybe a bit of horror.

Gilbert raised his phone in greeting. Pointed to the text with his index finger.

“Rouset’s.”

Ludwig stared at him, his mouth slightly agape.

“How—did you come here just to—”

“Apparently this is the place to ditch your blind date before actually meeting them,” Gilbert drawled. He gestured towards the large windows. “Probably thanks to this. Gotta assume he saw me and decided to save thirty bucks and a couple hours of awkward conversation and just split.”

Ludwig finally seemed to snap out of his stupor. His large hands fiddled with the shredded halves of bread on his plate.

“Thirty bucks…” he mumbled and then quirked a weak smile at Gilbert. “He wasn’t even going to spring for an appetizer? Sounds like you might have dodged a bullet.”

Gilbert snorted and shoved his phone in his pocket. Probably wouldn’t be buzzing anymore.

“Not sure if this bullet was worth waiting by myself in a restaurant for forty minutes with a very busy queue out the front door,” he said. “The host asked me five times if I wanted a table for one. I asked him if I could just sit at the empty space at the huge group table and ingratiate myself with them. Didn’t go over so well. Apparently wedding rehearsal dinners are a somewhat private affair.”

Ludwig’s lips twisted into an expression of sympathy. One he wore too well thanks to the wine. 

“Did you get a judgmental stare? Or did the waiter go full-blown snide remark?”

“Stare. I think my running tab that just read ‘glass of red’ for twenty pages stoked pity in his waiter heart, delayed the snark just long enough to—”

“Excuse me, sir?”

The soft voice made them both clam up immediately. The waitress had returned and was standing off to the side, looking mildly impatient. 

She cleared her throat.

“I don’t mean to hurry this along too much but will you be dining together this evening?”

“Yes,” Ludwig said immediately. Assuredly.

Gilbert glanced at him in surprise. Ludwig’s cheeks were red from wine but he was staring straight ahead at the waitress. Jaw set. Back straight. Far, far too much conviction for answering a question as mundane as restaurant seating arrangements.

Gilbert was furious with himself when his heart beat decided to quicken. Just a bit.

Ludwig pushed the other chair out with the tip of his toe. Gilbert stared at it, pride and that stupid booming in his chest warring with each other. 

The waitress cleared her throat again. The cough propelled Gilbert’s feet forward, some spark of good manners and the few shreds of dignity he had left wanting to salvage what they could. He sat down and immediately tugged his legs up to sit cross-legged in the chair. Whatever, it was huge. And he was nervous and there was no pillow to throttle so making himself as compact as possible would have to do. Whatever easy intimacy had possessed him when he’d first approached Ludwig was quickly deflating, leaving him feeling a bit hunted and unsure. Like a sleepwalker waking up to find themselves in an apartment that wasn’t exactly theirs.

“Will you have another glass of the Bordeaux?”

Gilbert just nodded, his eyes fixed on the spotless tablecloth. Spotless and. Semolina.

“I’ll be back to take your order shortly.”

Gilbert nodded again, what little confidence he’d had bleeding out completely. He listened to the soft clacking of the waitresses’ shoes against the nice hardwood floors. Recently stained floors, from the looks of them. Nice dark color.

“I can’t believe you’re actually here.”

Gilbert lifted his head to glance at Ludwig.

“…It’s a popular new restaurant,” he said. “It’s not like we ran into each other… I don’t know. Donating blood in Minsk or something.”

“Minsk.”

“I’m nervous, Ludwig, cut me some slack.” Gilbert propped his elbows up on his knees and glanced out the window. “Note the general nervous posture and lack of eye contact.”

Silence. Gilbert could hear Ludwig fiddling with the bread crumbs on his plate.

“…You didn’t have to sit down.”

“You said ‘yes’ at like. Super-hero levels of fast,” Gilbert muttered. “And it’s better than sitting alone. Marginally. And it’s better than going home. Admitting defeat and fleeing like some. Date. Coward.”

Gilbert heard Ludwig rip the bread into smaller pieces. A bit of force behind the movement. He glanced at the other man out of the corner of his eye. Ludwig’s eyes were averted.

Gilbert snorted and resumed his outside gazing.

“That pissed I’m dating? Mr. Practically-Engaged?”

“Even I’m not that petty, Gilbert,” Ludwig mumbled. His fingers scratched against the linen tablecloth as he splayed them out. “Despite what you might think of me.”

“Then why the gluten mangling.”

“Gluten—oh.”

Ludwig flicked a few crumbs of semolina off the table. The waitress chose that moment to come by and refill Gilbert’s wine glass. He ignored it. His cheeks were already too warm and his head was starting to cloud again. Which was fine when he’d had humiliation to dull but in front of Ludwig… The thought made the primal anger in his gut bare its teeth and start to gnaw at the ignition lighter again.

“I. It just doesn’t make sense to me. That’s all,” Ludwig said once the waitress had left. 

A little jolt of irritation made Gilbert raise his head. 

“What doesn’t make sense?” he asked icily. “Again, me dating, or—”

“It doesn’t make sense to me why someone would stand you up—I’m trying to compliment you here, Gilbert, could you at least meet me a quarter of the way? An eighth?” Ludwig said in exasperation. “You’re a good—a reasonably attractive doctor. Clearly this specimen you’ve been set up with has no concept of normal—normal human attractive levels. Or job credentials. Maybe you should’ve given him your CV first.”

Gilbert fell quiet, unsure how to respond. As much as he wanted to chalk up the little compliment to Ludwig’s blood-alcohol levels, something in his tone and the sober spark in his eye made it hard to attribute everything to the bottle of wine sitting in the pool of ice water to his left. 

“Yeah well… guess not everyone sees me like you do,” he finally muttered, slumping back against his chair. “My impeccable bone structure does, I’m told, make me look a bit inbre—ah.”

An uncomfortable silence fell over the table. Gilbert cursed his stupid mouth. Digging up the core of their breakup wasn’t—

Ludwig suddenly let out an ugly snort of laughter and quickly hid it behind his hand. Gilbert’s eyes widened as he watched the other man dissolve into barely-contained… chortles. There really was no other word for it.

Gilbert sat up a bit straighter, still watching Ludwig. After a few seconds he grabbed half of the roll and lightly tossed it at Ludwig’s arm.

“Get a hold of yourself. This is a fancy establishment.”

“Says the one sitting like a sulking kindergartner in his chair,” Ludwig said after a few calming breaths. He grabbed his water glass and downed half of it before resting his elbows on the table and fixing Gilbert with an amused look.

“Poor word choice, I assume?”

“You assume right,” Gilbert said slowly. “But now I’m left wondering if perhaps it wasn’t so terrible. Since I don’t seem to be sporting a bruised ego and ruptured eardrums like the last time I dared joke about our… genetic situation.”

Ludwig winced, the smile immediately falling from his face. His fingers returned to gathering crumbs of semolina. 

“…I do—I, ah. Owe you… many. Many apologies for that,” he said softly. “I won’t give them now, though, if you don’t mind. The wine makes them taste a little insincere, I think.”

“Apologies for what, Ludwig. Being related to me or kicking me out of your life like a kid erasing an Etch-a-Sketch?” Gilbert said. “Because one of those things, I regret to inform you, is sadly out of both of our control—”

“The latter, the latter. Don’t be smart when I’m trying to be sincere,” Ludwig said in mild exasperation. He ran his fingers through his hair and let out a quick breath. “Honestly I—they’re long overdue. But I was afraid that if I extended the olive branch you’d grab it and beat me senseless with it so I’ve been a little…chary.”

“Chary,” Gilbert repeated. “Meaning afraid?”

“Oh, petrified, yes,” Ludwig said. His lips quirked up into a little half-smile, and he glanced up at Gilbert, his eyes bloodshot and tired.

“Your aim really is quite good. I had an iPhone shaped bruise on my forehead for weeks.”

“Yeah well—guess any object in my hand becomes a homing device for targeting assholish individuals,” Gilbert mumbled, the smile making his insides squirm in ways that he feared were quite a distance from loathing or any of its emotional cousins.

He cleared his throat and picked up his wine glass for something to do.

“So that’s what the text messages were? Olive branches?”

“Twigs, really,” Ludwig said. “Smaller ammunition. That, and the side of me that’s been slowly realizing the true extent of the damage I did is something of a glutton for punishment, so the flurry of ‘fuck you’s and ‘go to hell’s was… welcomed isn’t right. Appreciated, I guess.”

“Oh don’t tell me that—don’t take damning you away from me too. It’s the only hobby I’ve got left,” Gilbert said. His cheeks flushed a light pink when Ludwig burst out laughing again. He’d forgotten what Ludwig’s tipsy laughter sounded like. It was so young and uninhibited. Rosy like the wine in his glass.

“Apologies. I can pretend to hate hearing from you, if you’d rather,” Ludwig said once he’d calmed down.

“No—no, that’s okay,” Gilbert mumbled. “I—”

“Are you ready to order?”

Gilbert ground his teeth in mild frustration. Waitress. She must have been trained in some sort of conversation-interrupting espionage. Gilbert grabbed the menu while Ludwig rattled off his order but he was too flustered to read the thing properly. He could feel the waitress and Ludwig staring at him. He met Ludwig’s eyes over the top of the menu and before he really could stop himself, he found himself asking, “What would I like?” An old question. One he’d asked Ludwig hundreds of times when they’d gone out together in the past.

The look of surprise and happiness that flitted across Ludwig’s face didn’t help settle Gilbert’s stomach any. Ludwig picked up the menu again and scanned it before saying softly, “The caramelized duck with braised asparagus. I think.”

“That, then,” Gilbert said, closing the menu. “And a Fanta. Whatever your most obnoxiously-colored one is.”

“…Of course, sir.”

Gilbert ignored the slight hint of judgment in the waitress’ voice as he handed the menus over. He waited until she was gone to speak again.

“So. Abandoned by ol’ Dicky. Shame.”

“Abandoned’s not quite right,” Ludwig said, his tone souring a bit. “Now that she’s feeling up to it Richard is hosting Sarah’s coming home party and he forgot he’d scheduled this with me earlier and neglected to tell me the change in plans until I’d already sat down—”

“And you aren’t welcome at the little family celebration?”

Blue eyes flashed with mild anger. Ludwig pressed his lips together for a moment before muttering, “I know I said I’m welcoming of your little jabs but maybe you could keep them to less-than-lethal levels. At least in public.”

Gilbert crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair.

“She really does hate you.”

Ludwig’s shoulders slumped.

“…I know.”

“And her dad doesn’t seem too keen on fixing that. A move suitable to his stupid name.”

“Yeah I—what?”

Ludwig glanced up at Gilbert in surprise.

“You think—”

“That a parent should try and foster a bridge between his offspring and current dating person?” Gilbert said slowly. “Like any rational person would? Yes.” He snorted. “Although considering your dating history, rational’ is a bar that’s probably a bit too high—”

“Can I—I don’t mean to make this about me but…”

Ludwig trailed off, fiddling with his napkin. Gilbert waited as patiently as he could for Ludwig to resume his thought. But Ludwig was sinking deeper and deeper into introspective brooding. And something about Ludwig’s expression or the way his large, clumsy fingers were deftly ripping at a loose thread in his napkin made empathy grab hold of Gilbert’s ribs again. Kept his heart from racing. Snaked its way up his spine to nestle in his brain and whisper old things at him. Pre-devastation and hurt. Little shadows of what he would have done before his sympathy centers had been so thoroughly razed.

Ludwig was still staring at the table. His hair was falling out of its normally slicked-back style. His breaths were becoming mechanically even. Signs Gilbert recognized as Ludwig struggling to keep himself even and calm. And failing.

Gilbert felt his body move on auto-pilot. Following whatever empathy had programmed into his brain. 

Fucking traitor.

He lightly nudged Ludwig’s shin. Even that bit of physical contact was enough to make him retract in on himself again. He hadn’t acknowledged Ludwig as a real, concrete presence in a long, long time. Not since they’d last touched. Well before he’d been Etch-A-Sketch erased out of Ludwig’s life.

“That whole ‘psychic twins’ thing was debunked pretty thoroughly, Ludwig,” he said, his voice shaking in spite of his affected nonchalance. “You’re going to have to string at least half a coherent thought together for me to make an attempt at communication. And I really—I am willing to attempt. At least while we’re here.”

Ludwig flinched and raised his head, his expression shocked and grateful and wary. The distrust in his eyes made Gilbert shove empathy out of the pilot’s seat to let irritation take the reins again for a bit.

“Just spit it out, Ludwig, holy fuck. Does every conversation with you that isn’t text-based have to take on soap-opera levels of drama?”

Ludwig winced, but for a moment looked refreshingly exasperated again.

“Sorry. I—Can I just… vent? For a bit? About it?” Ludwig dragged a hand down his face. “’It’ being the whole… Richard and family situation. I wouldn’t ask but I’ve no one to talk to. And you know Sarah, and—”

It was what Gilbert had been expecting. Which was half-relief, half-boring.

He shrugged.

“Fine.”

Ludwig peered at Gilbert through his fingers. Like a timid, caged animal. It was a off-putting.

“…Really? And… why?”

“Really, Ludwig? Really it’s because as ambivalent as I feel towards you I really, really dislike who you’re dating even more,” Gilbert said icily. “Sarah’s a cute kid and it’s clear her dad loves her but he’s a shitty parent. You don’t send a nanny to pick up a six year old from the fuckin’ hospital. I don’t think he came to see her even once. You were there until they kicked you out. So no, I don’t mind you dragging Dicksalot through the mud.”

“…Not that… not that this matters any but he really doesn’t like the nickname ‘Dick’—”

“God-willing I am never going to meet this guy so I think I’m going to call him whatever I want.” Gilbert lightly hit Ludwig’s shin again, feeing suddenly emboldened. “So. Spill. I’m learning all kinds of active listening bullshit from my therapist. May as well test it out.”

Ludwig started at that.

“You’re seeing a ther—”

“Another conversation. Right now we’re talking about Dicky.”

Ludwig met his gaze and held it for a long moment before he nodded.

“Fine,” he said quietly. “For the record, though, I’m. Proud of you. For what it’s worth.”

Gilbert took a moment to stamp out the warmth that was pooling in his gut before he said, “It isn’t worthless. For what that’s worth. Now spill.” He smirked and picked up his wine glass again. “Does he make you call him ‘daddy’? Is that where this is confessional is leading?”

Ludwig’s eyes flew wide open in horror.

“What—no!” he stammered. “No, god… no. He’s… I’m not sure why I’m telling you this but he’s really… standard. Bedroom-wise.”

“What?” Gilbert snorted. “You should definitely tell me that. That’s amazing.”

“It’s really not, actually.”

Gilbert felt his lips twitch up into a grin.

“So nothing like when we were in Belize and—”

“No! No not even a tenth—a microscopic fraction of that,” Ludwig said. His ears and cheeks were flushed but the corners of his mouth were slowly morphing into a smile. “He mostly just lies there like a recently-gutted tuna. Sometimes he’ll emit a grunt but—”

Gilbert pressed a hand over his face, his shoulders shaking with a sudden jolt of laughter. He could tell the other diners in their little sequestered area were staring at them but he was hard-pressed to care. He heard Ludwig chuckle.

“Is it really that funny?”

“V-Vindicatingly so, yes,” Gilbert said once he’d caught his breath. He let out one last exhale before forcing himself to calm down. He waved his hand.

“You were saying? Before the uh. Unfortunate seafood simile.”

“Right.”

Ludwig’s large fingers twirled the delicate stemware in his hand. A pensive frown tugged at his thin lips.

“Sometimes I think,” he said slowly, carefully, “that I’m… something of a trophy boyfriend. Which isn’t—god that’s not me thinking highly of my looks or anything—”

“I more than anyone, I’d wager, know full well the extent of your self-loathing when it comes to your appearance,” Gilbert said dryly. “Don’t forget who you’re talking to, please, or I’m going to get irritated.”

“Ah—right, sorry,” Ludwig mumbled. He hunched in on himself a bit more. Gilbert felt empathy dig its talons into his brain again. Had Ludwig been alone in the restaurant as long as he had? Longer? The ice in the chill bucket was looking like global warming had long gotten to it. Polar bears drowning. That sort of thing.

…Probably a while, then…

“…So, trophy boyfriend?” he said, nudging Ludwig’s leg once more. That, at least, felt safe. “If that’s the case why didn’t he show up tonight? Kind of pointless to have a trophy if you’re just going to send it off to a restaurant without any sort of plaque or... un…attributed…this metaphor is running away from me.”

“I told you,” Ludwig said quietly. “It’s Sarah’s day. She gets priority. Richard, he—he was very clear about that. That family was… it takes priority. Which I understand, of course, and… and I respect it. Especially since Sarah’s not fond of me—”

“She’d be fonder, probably, if her dad didn’t ban you from all family fun time,” Gilbert pointed out. “Really—can I be frank?” He didn’t bother to wait for Ludwig to finish nodding. He drained his wine and set the glass gently on the table. His slight buzz was starting to wear off.

“I don’t get why you’re with him. Which isn’t jealous ex talking or protective older brother talking—”

“Still really not comfortable with those two things being mentioned in the same breath,” Ludwig muttered.

“—just an objective observer.” Gilbert grabbed his fork and brandished it at Ludwig. “And shut up. I’ve had over a year of conversation simulations where I practice feigning indifference to that particular trauma. I deserve to show off my honed ability to disassociate.” 

Ludwig lifted his head slightly, and Gilbert could see the fight in his eyes. But he looked away without saying anything.

Gilbert propped his elbows on the table and leaned forward.

“So. What is it. Why’re you with him.” He raised an eyebrow. “Does ol’Dicky have a huge one?”

Ludwig made a little face and shook his head.

“I think I’ve divulged enough about my boyfriend’s anatomy.”

“Can’t be the money,” Gilbert mused. He stared off into space, thinking. “Or prestige. Considering your job, you’re practically slumming it with—what’s he do again?”

“Investment banker.”

“Ugh. Just buy him a copy of Ayn Rand and he’ll be so thrilled you’ll be invited to all of Sarah’s birthday parties or whatever.”

“He’s safe, Gilbert.” Ludwig crossed his arms over his chest, a scowl on his lips. “That’s the big mystery behind my dating him. To spare you further guesswork.”

Gilbert stared at Ludwig, torn between disgust and pity. “…The secret is that he’s boring?” he said. “You’re dating this prick because he’s dull? You can’t be serious. And honestly, as far as secrets go? Not much of one.”

“It really shouldn’t be that surprising given my dating history,” Ludwig said. “Our breakup was bad enough, but it’s not like my other ones were any better. Francis? He tried to sell personal information about me to the BBC. And that was before we broke up. My college boyfriend turned out to be in some… repugnant fight club—”

“That you then joined.”

“Under duress!” Ludwig swiped his fingers through his hair again. “Point is, Richard is stable. Stable job, stable family—his ex wife, also stable. Maid, chauffeur, cook, coworkers, daughter—all stable. All speak very highly of him. It was ni—it is nice. To have that sort of stability and not have to worry about the fallout.”

Gilbert watched Ludwig take another sip of his wine. His hand was trembling. Gilbert wanted to ask, if nothing else than just to see how much the man’s hand would shake, if Ludwig had ever thought that about him. Them.

He felt the scar on his palm and quickly abandoned the idea. Ludwig may have been stable. The rock holding their relationship steady. Gilbert, on the other hand, clearly had never been.

And come to think of it, towards the end Ludwig had been less bedrock and more Andreas Fault.

Instead Gilbert plastered a grin on his face and drawled, “He has a cook and a maid? You must be dying inside with your domestic sciences compulsions so denied to you.”

Ludwig gave Gilbert a strange look before he let out a soft ‘ah’ and said, “We aren’t living together, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“It is what I’m very, very heavily insinuating, yes,” Gilbert said, hiding his surprise. “ I thought I’d have to lean on you a bit more to extract that particular bit of information, honestly.”

Ludwig shook his head and fiddled with his wine glass.

“You’re not the first to make that mistake,” he said. “Although you, ah… you are the first person I’ve… I’ve corrected.” He groaned and pressed a hand against his face. “It’s guilt that’s doing this to me, I know it. Turning our little… rendezvous into some sort of. Confessional.”

“I mean— I don’t mind if you tell me all your tedious suburbia secrets, Ludwig, I really don’t, but…” Gilbert hesitated and then reached out to lightly tap his finger against the wine bottle in the chiller. 

“It’s going to be a wee bit… awkward. If your little divulgences turn out to be nothing more than the product of this. And I don’t have enough… ire or whatever left in me to actually get a kick out of you humiliating yourself to someone you once were content to never see again.” He let out a little breath and muttered, “If nothing else this is just me trying to prove to myself—and you I guess maybe—that I’ve… I’m. You know. Letting go. Let go. I’ve released—unclenched my talons. From around—this—this is just. Awkward just tell me what’s wrong with Richard.”

Gilbert snagged the bottle of wine and poured himself another glass. The waitress chose that moment to bring by their appetizers which was a welcome distraction from his insane ramblings. Gilbert snagged a little… egg… pie. Looking thing and slouched down in his chair, gnawing at it. 

Ludwig was quiet, staring at him from underneath hooded eyelids. He lightly hit his fingernail against his wine glass.

“It is partially this talking,” he said quietly. “But more than that it’s… I’ve. Realized something.” His eyes slid to the side, gaze fixating on some far-off point outside of the glass.

“The real secret—the only thing about Richard really is that he’s nothing like you. Every little thing I can complain about or praise him for boils down to that. He doesn’t let me close to Sarah. You always let me help with visitation at the hospital. He never texts first. I ran out of data when I was dating you from all the stupid… the videos and snap… whatevers that you would send. He won’t… he doesn’t want me in his home. You wouldn’t let me leave.”

Ludwig’s lips twisted up into an empty smile.

“And I know this has turned from confessional to… to some. Reality TV horror but that’s really all there is to it.”

He glanced at Gilbert, his blue eyes distant.

“I think I miss you,” he said simply. “I have missed you. And I’ve no… earthly idea. At all. What to do about it. Other than to send you the stupid sorts of texts you’d send me. The one thing I could think of that wouldn’t… hurt.”

“That wouldn’t hurt you, you mean,” Gilbert said, another flare-up of irritation taking over. “Because I’m sure your lizard brain is just big enough to extrapolate what it was like for me getting those first few texts—”

“I know,” Ludwig said quickly, his face paling. “I know. It was selfish. I was so angry when I saw you in the hospital but after that faded and I was sitting there alone next to Sarah’s bed I remembered all those nights I spent waiting in your office and how I never… I never was irritated or impatient. I was so content to just… wait. And I’d never thought about it—never had a reason to think about it until then. But since we… since we parted ways, I… I’ve not been able to wait for anything. Not like I could then.”

Gilbert pressed his lips together and did his best not to react to the absolute babbling spewing out of Ludwig’s mouth.

“…So you missed sitting in my office and dicking around on your phone.”

“No—no, Gilbert.” Ludwig let out a little breath and half-heartedly pushed a bruschetta around on his plate. “I missed. Being so in love with something that it didn’t matter where I was or how long I had to wait. That kind of—”

“Devotion.”

Ludwig lifted his gaze slightly and nodded.

“Devotion,” he echoed quietly and then fell silent.

Gilbert twirled his fork around between his fingers as he studied Ludwig. The man did look forlorn. Like a lost dog. Lost wolf, actually, Ludwig wasn’t that helpless or fang-less…

Gilbert set down his fork and grabbed another mini quiche.

“Well,” he said, “you’re welcome to come and wait in my office. If you’re ever in the neighborhood and are legitimately that bored.”

Ludwig’s head snapped up at that. He stared at Gilbert, mouth agape. 

“Wh—you’d let me in your office?” he said. “Why?”

“Why?” Gilbert shrugged, trying to appear as relaxed as humanly possible without reaching catatonic levels of inactivity. Meanwhile his heart was trying to jam its way through his ribs in protest. “The only person who’d really notice your presence is Bel. And she’s too busy sucking face with Eliza lately to—”

“Wait—wait, wait,” Ludwig interrupted. “Bel? And Eliza? Your nurse Bel?”

“She’s really more like the people’s nurse,” Gilbert said. “But yeah, her. And Eliza.”

“…For how—”

“Couple weeks. Month and a half, maybe. Got together a little bit before Sarah broke her leg.”

“…Huh.”

A troubled look crossed Ludwig’s face. His eyes softened with sympathy.

“That must have been hard. Is? Hard?”

“Like titanium.” Gilbert licked crumbs off his fingers and then reached across the table to snag one of Ludwig’s bruschetta. Ludwig didn’t seem to mind—he even pushed the plate a bit closer to Gilbert with the tip of his finger.

“Did Eliza ever sit down and talk to you about it, or—”

“What? No,” Gilbert scoffed, “She doesn’t need my permission—”

“Of course not, but… she has to know it isn’t easy,” Ludwig said quietly. “Given how rough our… our breakup was. And your history with her…” He frowned. “God—none of your breakups have been easy either, have they.”

“Nope.” Gilbert stole another bruschetta. “Really not easy. Especially since it apparently takes half a fucking decade for me to stop being head-over-heels sick-to-my-stomach in love with someone.”

Ludwig fell suddenly very quiet, his cheeks dusting slightly with pink. Gilbert realized too late what he’d confessed.

“I’m not—I mean that’s how long it took for her,” he said quickly. “Not… that timeline isn’t a universal experience of mine or anything.”

“…Oh.” Ludwig folded his hands on the table. His back was ramrod straight. “So you’re not… you don’t feel like that about me anymore?”

The forced indifference in his voice made Gilbert grimace.

“Do you feel like that about me? Mr. ‘I miss you’?” Gilbert shot back.

“Wh—I asked first,” Ludwig said, some of the steely control leaving his posture. 

“Oh what is this, kindergarten? Just answer the question, Schmidt.”

“I’m dating—I have been dating for almost a year now—”

“As amazing and airtight as that evidence is, it probably won’t hold up in court.”

“Would you quit dodging and just answer the question?” Ludwig’s face was flushed bright red. Even his ears were pink.

Gilbert pressed his lips together, trying to get a lid on his temper.

“Ludwig, I spent months carving your likeness out of potatoes, carrots, cucumbers—pretty much any food I could take a knife to—and took no small amount of joy from stabbing, slicing, or parboiling your smug potato face. So no, I wouldn’t say I’m still in love with you. Any more than you are with me.”

Ludwig remained perfectly still. Back still straight. Hands still neatly folded. But the red was gone from his face. His eyes were slightly unfocused. And all he said was an even, “I see.”

“Good,” Gilbert muttered. He grabbed another tart but found he couldn’t really eat it. Vivisection it was, then. He spent a few moments sorting the shredded spinach and carrot and whatever white vegetable was crammed in there before he glanced up at Ludwig again. The blank look was still on his face, but at least he was eating. Or rather picking half-heartedly at the bruschetta. 

Gilbert watched Ludwig sort the tomatoes and basil and then glanced down at his own plate of neatly organized vegetables. They really were related. Genetic impulse to sort and categorize everything, probably. Maybe their father had been some sort of. Professional sorter. Or an accountant. God that would be devastating. To have such… boring genes…

Gilbert suddenly paused, a horrible thought occurring to him with a sickening punch. He lifted his head and stared at Ludwig.

“Oh my god,” he said, “You want me to still be in love with you.”

Ludwig’s cheeks regained a bit of color, but his blue eyes were disinterested when they met Gilbert’s. “Hardly,” he said.

“Then why the sudden silence?” Gilbert pressed. “Why the whole ‘I miss you’? Why text me when you’re supposed to be waiting for your boyfriend?”

“I can want to spend time with you without wanting you to still be in love with me,” Ludwig snapped, his face growing redder. “Last I checked those weren’t mutually reliant situations.”

Gilbert sat back in his chair. Ludwig looked ready for a fight. Embarrassed and cornered. Gilbert felt the urge to be the better man voice its quiet concerns, and for once he indulged them. He picked up his water glass and said a non-committal “I guess that’s true.”

“Thank you,” Ludwig said after a moment’s pause. “And sorry—I didn’t… sorry I snapped. Sensitive topic, still.”

“Clearly,” Gilbert muttered into his glass. Ludwig must have heard him but he was gracious enough not to reply. Gilbert studied Ludwig over the rim of his glass. The waitress came by with their entrées but he didn’t so much as look at his. Once she was gone he lightly nudged Ludwig’s leg again. It was almost habit now. This time, though, Ludwig didn’t flinch. He remained perfectly, carefully still. Save for a slight trembling of his fingers. A curling of his lips that quickly faded away into a carefully-schooled expression.

Gilbert filed that away for later.

He sat back in his chair once more.

“You and Dick exchanged mushy sentiments yet?”

“…Several,” Ludwig said, raising an eyebrow before glancing back down at his food. “Depends on the level of mush in question.”

“Maximum mush.”

“Which means?”

“Pretty much what we were just talking about.” Gilbert tilted his head to the side. “He say he loves you?”

Ludwig fell still for a bit, but then he nodded. Very slightly.

“Month in,” he said quietly. “But don’t bother getting depre—having any sort of reaction to that. It was a perfunctory thing. Like telling your dog groomer.”

“…You tell your dog groomer you lo—”

“Recognize the hyperbole and accept it without comment. That’s all I ask.”

Gilbert made a zipping gesture over his lips and then resumed half-heartedly picking at his duck. Ludwig’s clipped tone and hunched posture were giving him second thoughts about being there. With Ludwig, looking like they were on a date. Or at the very least, very, very close business colleagues.

Gilbert set his fork down and propped his elbows up on the table.

“…Can I ask you one last question?” 

Ludwig nodded without looking up.

“When he told you. Did you return the sentiment?”

Ludwig paused for a moment and then resumed eating. His movements were tired and mechanical. He chewed his bite and swallowed.

“Yes. I did. It was a bit awkward, I have to admit.”

Gilbert felt his insides go cold. The little bite of duck he’d taken threatened to make an encore performance. He fiddled with his knife and was scrambling to come up with something clever to say in return when he realized Ludwig wasn’t done speaking.

“Very awkward. But not as awkward as when I had to correct myself, though.”

Gilbert sat up straighter, his curiosity piqued.

“Correct? To… what, exactly? ‘I lathe you’? ‘I loathe you’? A classic, that one.”

“No—god, no even I’m not that far gone,” Ludwig muttered. “I meant… when I told him it was just as perfunctory as his confession had been. Because he’d gotten all worked up and… genuine. About it. For a few moments. Which was honestly a little off-putting…”

“Off-putting… because it was too soon?” Gilbert guessed, in full-fledged gossip mode now. He leaned forward, steadfastly ignoring how dry his eyes were becoming in favor of staring eagerly at Ludwig.

Ludwig seemed reluctant to stare back. Or even meet his gaze.

“It… I wouldn’t say it was too soon,” he said after a moment. “Just not what I’d wanted to hear, exactly. I’d thought—our relationship up until that point had been mostly physical. I hadn’t even met Sarah. We’d spend the nights at my place or… or even at a hotel. A few nights. So when emotion suddenly entered the picture… I had no idea what to do. I was utterly flummoxed. So my mouth just sort of… responded in kind. Even though that wasn’t at all what I’d originally wanted or intended…”

“So you didn’t want an emotional relationship? At all?” Gilbert asked, doing his best to hide his eagerness and relief.

Ludwig shook his head and picked at his plate with his eyes downcast.

“None of my other ones were,” he said quietly. “After you, I mean. I didn’t—… I couldn’t. Would be more of an accurate way to start.”

“Couldn’t what?”

Ludwig finally glanced up, his expression slightly annoyed.

“You’re really hell-bent on wresting this from me, aren’t you.”

“What can I say. I delight in your discomfort and angst,” Gilbert said. He realized, with a guilt-ridden jolt, however, that he owed Ludwig a bit more than that. Maybe. New phone in his pocket said as much anyway. The dozens of polite text messages said so too.

He chewed over his words for a moment before saying carefully, “And I can’t… deny. That a part of me is glad you’re as emotionally… hollowed out as I am. After it… yeah.” He snorted quietly and muttered, “Or you were, anyway. Sounds like you’ve gotten over your dislike of Richard having emotions around you. And towards you. Maybe that’s what’s filled you out. Made you less… cavernous like I am.”

He heard Ludwig suck in a sharp breath. Then a quiet, “Oh, Gilbert...”

Gilbert continued to stare out the window, feeling the color slowly drain from his face. He’d said too much. The little pity in Ludwig’s voice. The self-loathing. The desire to fix it he could hear bubbling just underneath the surface. All prime indicators that once again he’d idiotically showed his hand to the one person who knew better than anyone else just how to win against it.

“It’s fine,” he muttered. “You don’t have to say my name like I’m some sort of tuberculosis patient eking out their last in an iron lung. Shouldn’t be surprising that what you did to me—what circumstance did to me and that you then hammered home—left me feeling gutted. Or if you are surprised then you’re about a billion times denser than I’d given you credit for. And right now I have you sitting at about an iridium level. Little more and you’ll have scientists flocking to study you.”

He kept his gaze fixed on the street past the window. He knew if he looked over at Ludwig the other man’s eyes would be soft with pity. The same look he used to wear any time Gilbert had talked about his childhood. 

“I’m not looking for an apology or anything. By the way,” Gilbert said. “I’m not sure I’m even at a stage where I’d believe one. But it… I’m…”He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. “Terrible at words, apparently.”

He faced Ludwig again, trying to keep himself from flinching or looking away. His stomach was starting to do that curdling thing. The acid building that would spread to his nerves and his tongue. Make his limbs twitchy and his mouth liable to say shit he only half meant. Truths that were expanded into the inflatable lies that carved his world. Molded it out of the terrible cocktail of chemical affect that ruled his life.

“I’m tired of being angry. That’s what I wanted—what I’m trying to say. And I’m really fucking mad because my goddamn therapist said I would get tired of feeling angry and I really, really wanted to prove her wrong. For some perverse reason. But all that said, I… ah…”

He swallowed heavily, wanting so badly to look out the window again. Ludwig was calmly meeting his gaze, but the bit of red surrounding the man’s blue irises was easy enough to notice. If the slight creaking of his chair as he shifted his weight wasn’t indication enough that Ludwig wanted to leave. Be anywhere else. Be a harmless text message where he couldn’t get hurt.

Gilbert felt himself stand before he really knew what he was doing. He stared down at Ludwig, who was starting to appear visibly agitated instead of subtly distressed.

“I should go,” he said, not wanting to go.

He grabbed his bag all the same, compelled to follow through with his panicked nonsense if nothing else. He had a grim feeling that perhaps that was why he’d wanted to hang on to the anger for so long. Anger was singular and simple. He didn’t have to think about the nuances of anything else. Anger could simply be. A one note fuel that pushed him out of bed in the morning, helped him ignore the sickly sweet love notes and phone calls between Eliza and Bel that were growing day by day. And anger was how he should feel. Disgust and anger. That was right, that was good, that was what any rational person would harbor and nurture. It’s what Ludwig had done. The most rational person he knew. 

But this. Whatever it was that was making him grab his bag and throw a few bills down on the table. He didn’t know how to name it or what it wanted from him. And that—even more than Ludwig sitting across the table from him—was terrifying.

Gilbert turned on his heel, his bag hitting him on the backside with the abruptness of the motion.

“Wait—!”

Gilbert’s bag hit him again when Ludwig’s fingers around his wrist stopped him in his tracks.

Gilbert yanked his arm out of Ludwig’s grip immediately, panic seizing his lungs. That emotion he could name. Pure panic. The kind that made him gasp, “Don’t touch me!” and startle perfectly innocuous restaurant diners with his outburst.

Ludwig immediately let go, his hands held up in a gesture of surrender.

“Sorry—sorry, I… I shouldn’t have done that.”

Gilbert eyed Ludwig warily, his heart still pounding in his chest. The last time Ludwig had touched him had been soft. A little brush of fingertips against the nape of his neck. That had been on the ride to the halfway house. Before the letter. The one positive memory of Ludwig as a physical being Gilbert had held onto. And now it was, more or less, completely shattered.

He stood up a bit straighter, irrational anger making its appearance again.

“What.”

Ludwig opened his mouth a few times, obviously trying to respond and coming up empty. He finally shook his head and took a little step backwards.

“It’s nothing. I’m really… really sorry, Gilbert. You can take your money back. Dinner’s on me.” He quirked a little smile at Gilbert. “Compensation for you getting stood up. We’ll say.”

“I don’t need your pity dinner or your dodging,” Gilbert said coldly. “What were you going to say that was so important it warranted manhandling me.”

Ludwig fell silent for a few painful moments before he cleared his throat.

“I was—I was going to ask if you wanted to leave and maybe… go get a pizza instead.”

Gilbert blinked.

“…Bullshit.”

“No. Unfortunately,” Ludwig deadpanned. “I’m aware how pathetically teen movie that move is, but.” He sighed and pressed a hand against his face. “I really don’t want to be here any longer. But I didn’t—I didn’t want to leave you. So if you’re leaving anyway, I… I honestly have no idea why I thought you’ be interested in prolonging what is clearly an experience neighboring on torture for you—”

“You’re not Bond-villain-y enough for it to be anywhere in the realm of torture,” Gilbert muttered. He worried at his lip, studying Ludwig as subtly as he could.

“…When you say pizza do—were you thinking more. Fancy woodburning oven type. Or dive joint thin slices of grease.”

“Oh the latter for sure,” Ludwig said without pause. “Honestly I’ve had my share of—”

“Okay.”

For a moment, Gilbert wasn’t sure if Ludwig had heard him. The other man turned to face him, blue eyes unreadable. Then slowly, very slowly they widened. A subtle smile tugged at the corners of his lips. 

“Really.”

“Yes. Apparently.” Gilbert fiddled with his bag strap, anxiety threatening to take over again. “Assume, though, that I have no idea why I said yes. Treat me as you would a sentient, tranquilized badger. Very disoriented, very unsure and just praying it’ll have a good time before it is inevitably betrayed by its handlers.”

Ludwig blinked.

“…Badger—”

“Yeah it’s this kid’s show thing—I’ve been spending too much time in the recovery ward. Please put some bills on the table so we can just go and forget about this little exchange,” Gilbert muttered, gesturing towards the table.

Ludwig immediately pulled out his wallet and threw some bills on the table.

“Should I stuff the rest of the appetizers in my bag? Or would people assume we’re dining and dashing?”

“Considering you just plunked a Kilimanjaro’s worth of paper money on the table, I think they’re going to assume you’re a banknote forger,” Gilbert said, eyeing the stack of bills, “The comments about appetizer pilfering will be a fun little side note in the newspaper expose.”

He hiked his bag over his shoulder and started for the exit, trusting that Ludwig would follow. 

Outside the damp spring air made Gilbert shiver. He waited for Ludwig to catch up and took advantage of that opportunity to ask himself what the fuck he was doing. He wasn’t an expert in the sort of fields Doctor Laika and her ilk roamed in, but he was pretty sure following up an anger-succumbing moment (or almost one) with a promise to get a slice of New York style greaseball pizza with your former abuser counted among the long list of Dumb Shit he’d done in his mid-ranged life.

He winced and mentally scratched out the word “abuser.” Ludwig had been many things, but that was taking it a bit far.

He realized then that he was walking off in an random direction. Rather aimlessly. He stopped and let Ludwig catch up a bit.

“So why the sudden craving for garbage pizza?” he asked. “Richard not let it into his home?”

“Pretty much,” Ludwig said. “You remember those little frozen pizzas we used to get as hangover cures? The ones that were roughly one-fourteenth the price of every other frozen pizza—”

“—and tasted more like a grease-soaked piece of cardboard than anything? I remember. Not exactly fond memories, but.”

“Well I pointed one of those out to Richard when we were grocery shopping once and told him that and he was…. disgusted doesn’t even begin to cover it. Appalled.”

Gilbert snorted.

“Over cheap pizza?”

“He said he didn’t understand me sometimes.” Ludwig’s expression turned pinched. “And he accused me of… basically he accused me of putting on airs. Of not actually being who I say I am or… something like that. I honestly don’t remember. He was a little tipsy and I was too startled to respond properly. It—… he… Richard. Has a very… particular way of…”

Ludwig trailed off. After a moment he shook his head.

“Never mind. Antonio’s okay with you? I haven’t been there in forever so it’s entirely possible they’ve finally broken the requisite number of health code violations and been shut down.”

“Antonio’s is fine. Walking distance, good enough,” Gilbert said. He glanced at Ludwig out of the corner of his eye. Ludwig’s expression was frustratingly unreadable. His jaw was set but that could mean anything. Soccer match too nail-bitingly close. Store out of his favorite brand of beer. Boyfriend an emotionally abusive dickhole.

“You’d tell someone, right?” Gilbert found himself asking. “If you were in some sort of trouble or pain? You’d tell a coworker or your mom or your therapist.”

Ludwig continued walking for a few moments silent. Finally he shook his head.

“I really can’t,” he said with a little shrug. “I’d like to but… quite frankly I’m terrified that I’ll slip up and confess something I really shouldn’t.”

“About me?”

“Us,” Ludwig corrected. He rubbed the back of his neck. “If it were just you there’d be no problem.”

“Is it really that shameful that the mere thought of letting something slip keeps you from talking about anything?” Gilbert asked. He didn’t bother to scrub the bitterness out of his words.

Ludwig raised an eyebrow.

“So I’m to assume you’ve told your therapist everything?”

Gilbert’s stomach clenched. He debated lying for a moment but he knew Ludwig would be able to read him instantly. Ludwig didn’t give him time to respond before spoke again.

“And shameful isn’t the word I’d use.”

Gilbert lifted his head in surprise and glanced up at Ludwig. Ludwig’s cheeks were flushed but he gave Gilbert an askance look.

“It’s not either of our faults,” Ludwig said quietly. “It’s taken me a long time to understand that, but—”

“It took you a long time to understand that?” Gilbert felt his blood pressure start to rise again. “It took you months to understand that we’re not at fault for being related? For not being able to guess that we’re blood relatives before we started dating? That’s your big soul-searching result?” The bitter residue in his words that had been clamoring for validation floated to the surface, and Gilbert gladly indulged it. He stopped in his tracks and turned to face Ludwig, his lips curled up in an angry snarl.

“Ludwig—for fuck’s sake how was that something you even had to struggle with?! There’s no possible fucking way we would have known or even had that worry on our goddamn radar unless we were living on a tiny island off the coast of Greenland or something where the population is five and the danger of inbreeding already pretty much a given!”

“I know—I know, Gilbert, I know,” Ludwig said in obvious frustration. “Logically I’ve known that this whole time but—”

“But what, Ludwig? I cannot believe that a bit of genetic trivia was a huge revelatory experience for you!”

“But if it’s not anyone’s fault then that means I destroyed us over next to nothing!” Ludwig snapped, his fingers burying in his hair. “It means I might not be a monster for how I feel about you but I can’t—I can’t accept that. Part of me wants to be monstrous for what I did and for all the things I can’t just… cut away.”

Gilbert took an instinctive step away from Ludwig. His heart was sitting somewhere around his kidneys. Slowly thumping against his organs.

Ludwig’s head was turned away from him. He hugged his suit coat draped over his arm. The few pedestrians walking down the little side street they were on were skirting them a wide berth. Quickening their paces until the last hurried past them. 

Gilbert waited in the silence that followed. Counting to ten. Again. And again. And again.

“I’m so sorry.”

Ludwig’s words were barely a whisper. Gilbert almost missed them. 

“Stop it,” Gilbert said, ashamed that his voice was shaking. “I don’t want to talk honestly about this. Make it into a joke, jokes I can handle. I’ve been practicing—”

Ludwig looked up at him, his expression unreadable.

“I won’t lie to you,” he said softly. “You don’t deserve that.”

“Don’t deserve—you’re damn fucking right I ‘don’t deserve’ to be lied to, Ludwig, why the fuck would you say that?” Gilbert ran his fingers through his hair to try and keep himself calm but it wasn’t really working.

And then what Ludwig had said, all the syllables and sounds and pain of it, fell softly into place inside his ribs.

He lowered his hand like a lead weight was dragging it down. His whole body felt heavy. He stared up at Ludwig. Took a small, shuffling step forward.

“How you feel?” he asked. “Present tense?”

Ludwig’s shoulders stiffened. He took a step away from Gilbert, looking hunted. He opened his mouth as though he wanted to say something, and then abruptly closed it with an audible click.

Gilbert wrapped his arms around himself, his skin clammy and cold as he waited for Ludwig to answer. To say anything. But all Ludwig did for a long, long while, was hang his head, and let his arms fall to his sides.

Gilbert watched Ludwig in his stillness. He could practically see the walls being built. Moat excavated. Filled with crocodiles and piranha and the horrible things Ludwig had spat at him in their last few days together.

He retreated. It wasn’t worth the pain.

Instead he rolled his shoulders and moved forward to lightly kick Ludwig’s shin.

“If you’re done petrifying yourself with shitty-phrasing disease can we go? I didn’t eat lunch in anticipation of a stupid fancy meal. The role of which will now be played by its god-awful understudy.”

Ludwig gave a small nod and started walking again. His back was still hunched and fingers still clutched around his bag. Gilbert couldn’t see his expression, but it must have been pretty bad. Pedestrians were avoiding him like oil in water. 

Gilbert let the silence envelop them for a while, but finally the jittery nerves twitching under his skin made him rip it apart again.

“Do you want me to treat you like a monster? I can. I’ve got a veritable warehouse full of resentment and angst I’ve been stockpiling. I’d be glad to put it to use instead of waiting for it to explode and evaporate the rest of my crumbling interpersonal relationships.”

Ludwig let out a heavy breath through his nose. Like a bull deciding if charging was worth it or if it couldn’t handle another spear through the back.

“…It used to be what I wanted,” he said quietly. He turned his head and flashed Gilbert an empty smile. “But you have a way of making your kindness horribly addictive.” 

Gilbert felt his cheeks grow red. He quickly looked away, his throat tightening. 

“It’s damn near impossible to monsterize you when you say shit like that.” 

“I’m not trying to be un-monstrous.”

“I know. That’s kind of the problem I’m having,” Gilbert muttered. He straightened up and continued on. He could see the dim, spluttering light of Antonio’s neon sign a half a block ahead. It was the closest pizza place to his station. He and Ludwig had gone there often. Some (Eliza) would say too often.

The wooden door was covered in half-torn stickers and long, pale scratches where the stain had been scraped away. The handle was sticky when Gilbert grabbed it. He made a face and Ludwig laughed quietly.

“It’s probably just dried beer.”

“That doesn’t make it better.”

Gilbert yanked the door open and then let out a groan. The place was packed. Several large, loud groups of sports fans occupied the bar area, and the back dining seemed to be taken over by some teenager’s birthday. The mid-thirties host seemed rattled when he addressed them.

“There’s a twenty minute table wait. You can put your name down here.”

A clipboard was tossed in their direction before the guy scuttled off to the bar again.

Gilbert stared at the clipboard and then glanced up at Ludwig, one eyebrow raised.

Ludwig frowned.

“To go?”

“Where would we eat it?”

“Brigs Park?”

“Yeah sure. I love sitting on used heroine needles while I’m trying to hork down a pizza before the tetanus sets in.”

Ludwig pressed his lips together.

“You’ve gotten more sarcastic.”

“Just your imagination.”

Gilbert fell quiet, trying to think. Not much else was open in the neighborhood. Last trains ran early that night. The only thing that was really close…

His stomach gave a little lurch. He tried to remember if he’d done the dishes. Or if his room still had his depression nest of blankets or if he’d remembered to straighten it up before Bel came over and saw.

And all of that flashed across his thoughts before he even could consider what a terrible, horrible idea it was to invite Ludwig to his home. But it was late and he was hungry and two mini egg tart things weren’t enough to provide him with the rational thought he needed to realize what a terrible, horrible idea it was.

“We could go to my place.”

Despite the terrible, horribleness, the look of utter shock on Ludwig’s face was almost worth it. Ludwig hesitated, his eyes narrowing.

“Am… am I meant to laugh?” he asked cautiously.

Gilbert shrugged and looked away, his heart racing so quickly he was sure Ludwig could hear it.

“If you find the idea of mid-income housing funny, I guess.”

He realized he was scratching his arm with his raggedly clipped nails (god he needed to cut them he was so gross when was the last time he’d properly taken care of himself) and then risked a glance up at Ludwig, feeling… vulnerable.

“No?”

“No—by which I mean no, not… not no,” Ludwig said too quickly, thankfully missing Gilbert’s expression of relief. “I just—I don’t… I don’t really follow your logic—”

“My logic is I’m hungry and my house is close by and if we put an order in now we can eat in thirty minutes,” Gilbert said, partially trying to convince himself of the idea.

“But what about Eliza? If she saw me there—”

Gilbert groaned and raked a hand down his face. Fucking Eliza. Of course. She’d gossip him to death…

He pulled out his phone and without letting himself think about it pressed the picture of her face in his contacts. It started to ring. She picked up quickly, which meant she was walking somewhere. Probably with Bel.

/Gil? Hey! Bel and I are on our way to a movie. Midnight release! How’s the date going?/ Her tone changed almost immediately. /Do you need me to rescue you? I can have Bel stand in line for me./

Distantly Gilbert could hear Bel say, “He doesn’t need rescuing!”

“No, it’s… uh.” Gilbert glanced up at Ludwig and then looked away. Ludwig would understand. He needed Eliza to give him some space.

“Things are going well, actually. Which is why I’m calling. Can you stay at Bel’s tonight?”

There was silence on the other end of the line. Followed by a loud bellow of laughter.

Gilbert pulled the phone away from his ear before it ruptured. He waited for the cacophony to subside before trying again.

“So can you.”

/Holy fuck Gilbert. First date, really?! It took you like five when we were going out before—/

“Really, Eliza? You want to play the first date card? Tell me, what was yours and Bel’s first date like? Oh wait I don’t need a summary, I can pretty much recall the exact play-by-play thanks to how thin the walls—”

/It’s fine! Jesus, Gil, I hope your date’s not listening to your bitter-singles vitriol. I’ll stay at Bel’s. Congrats on the hookup./

“Please don’t call it that,” Gilbert muttered.

/Sex on the first date is universally called a hookup, Gilbert. I don’t make the rules./

“It’s not a hookup—have fun at your movie, goodbye.”

Gilbert jammed his thumb against the disconnect button. He stared at it in disgust.

“I really miss phones that you could snap shut. Felt more final.”

“Landlines. If I want to expose myself as the dinosaur I am,” Ludwig said. “I miss those.” He cleared his throat and then said awkwardly, “So you, ah… neglected to mention me.”

“Guess so,” Gilbert shoved his phone in his pocket. “Let’s not make a big deal out of it. I don’t— I don’t want it to be a deal. Just a thing that’s. Happening or whatever.” He grabbed a menu and handed it to Ludwig. “Here. You remember which ones give me food poisoning better than I do.”

“I’ve told you it’s the green peppers… fine.” Ludwig took the menu and spent all of two seconds glancing at it before he set it down again.

“I’m not sure I feel comfortable lying to Eliza.”

“Well that makes one of us.”

“Surely she has some… ill will against me. I don’t know that I’d feel welcome—”

“You’ll notice I didn’t lie to her,” Gilbert said, starting to get a bit agitated. “I neglected to divulge certain details. Which is how I’ve been dealing with you-related stuff whenever she asks since we broke up. So chalk it up to reflex or whatever, but it’s done. I’ll send her a text later or something if it’s really weighing on your conscience. Or you can just avoid her half of the house. Just—please, god just order a pizza I’m so hungry…”

Ludwig hesitated a moment longer and then nodded and said quietly, “I’ll be right back.”

Gilbert watched him weave his way between the groups of drunken sports fans, looking terribly out of place in his pressed suit and slicked-back hair. Gilbert sat down on one of the grimy benches to wait, tilted his head back and closed his eyes.

What the fuck was he doing.

He was about ninety percent sure there were dirty dishes in the sink. And that nothing had been dusted for an inordinately long time. There were probably more skin cells on top of the TV stand than there were on his actual person.

Ludwig was going to see. And going to know just how not okay he’d been. But clearly some part of Gilbert’s subconscious wanted him to. Maybe rub his face in what he’d done, what Ludwig had reduced him to. Maybe Ludwig would go all pale again and quiet. Avoid looking at anything. Leave with his tail between his legs, uncomfortable and upset. Feeling more monstrous than ever.

Or he’d roll up his sleeves. Dishes done. TV dusted. Rug vacuumed, bathtub scrubbed clean and he’d order Gilbert, politely, to take a bath and relax while he finished up the rest of the house and then fine, yes they could play that new racing game Gilbert couldn’t get Eliza to touch with a ten foot pole.

Gilbert opened his eyes and stared up at the blackened tin ceiling of the restaurant. 

He could feel it. The initial surge of humiliation and stubborn pride. The lapping bathwater against his skin. Guilt that wouldn’t let him relax, bath abandoned because Ludwig knew he hated those and had most likely made him take one just to get him out of the way so he could work.

He could feel it. All of it, the tinge of domesticity, of repairing and resetting normalcy. Hesitant jabs and inside jokes he’d tried to incise out of his memories and parlance and god, god it wasn’t fair. He knew it was going to be scenario one. Ludwig was too fragile, too hell-bent on martyring himself. What the fuck had he been thinking inviting him…

Gilbert’s eyes started to sting. He pressed a hand against his face, schooling his expression into something neutral and robotic. 

The floor vibrated with footfalls, signaling Ludwig’s return.

“I can’t believe it. He actually remembered me. Which is great because he promised he’d use the newer sausage for—…Gilbert?”

A faint warmth lingered by his shoulder for a moment before it quickly faded. Gilbert could hear Ludwig shuffling around. Unsure.

He took a moment to make sure his eyes wouldn’t be too red before he lowered his hand and glanced up at Ludwig. The man’s expression was pinched with worry.

“I don’t have to come over,” Ludwig said immediately. “It’s not worth this much stress—”

“That’s not—it wasn’t that. Just let it alone.”

Ludwig immediately closed his mouth, but the worried expression never left his face. He hovered awkwardly off to the side until Gilbert pointed at the bench and muttered, “Sit.”

Ludwig sat.

Gilbert turned his attention to the televisions above the bar, watching the hockey game that was on.

“Do you mind if I ask what it was, then?”

Ludwig’s soft voice barely got Gilbert’s attention. He glanced at him and then turned back to the TV. He watched it for a few more moments in silence, listlessly debating how much to divulge.

“I was thinking,” he said finally, “that I’m going to take advantage of you.”

He felt Ludwig tense and without thinking he reached out and hit him in the knee.

“Not like that.”

“Ow—forgive me for jumping to a perfectly logical conclusion,” Ludwig muttered, rubbing his knee. “How did you mean it, then?”

“I meant it the other way.”

“The other—”

“The platonic way.”

“Oh.”

They fell silent again. Watching the game.

“I don’t mind.”

Gilbert tilted his head back to stare unblinkingly at Ludwig.

Ludwig met his gaze.

“I don’t mind,” he said again.

“You should,” Gilbert said dryly. “It isn’t an ideal scenario.”

“Not to be too reductive but ‘not ideal’ is practically the slogan for our relationship so far,” Ludwig said. “And if taking platonic advantage of me is what you need right now—”

Gilbert made a frustrated noise and turned around on the bench to face Ludwig. He scooted forward, his knee banging into the wall as he did so. He ignored the sting.

“You’re not the only one who feels like a monster sometimes, Ludwig, so just—could you tone the martyr act down to something even a bit shy of Jesus Christ Superstar levels? I’m telling you I’m going to be selfish and you—you can’t just be okay with that because of what an asshole you were a year and a half ago.”

There was a stubbornness to Ludwig’s expression that Gilbert recognized with a little jolt of nostalgia. Ludwig lifted his chin up just a hair.

“I’m not saying I’ll bend over backwards for you or follow whatever arbitrary command you can come up with,” Ludwig said. “I’m saying that if you need someone to help you right now, and if you don’t mind it being me, then I want it to be me. Please.”

Gilbert sat back on the bench, his hands resting between his legs. He said nothing.

“Is it okay if it’s me?”

Gilbert looked away.

“Gilbert?”

Gilbert shuddered as another wave of nausea swept through him at the thought of Scenario One. Ludwig leaving again. The house still undone.

A bolt of panic suddenly seized his nerves. Without thinking he reached out and grabbed Ludwig’s hand. Held it tightly.

“Gilbert—”

Discomfort. Tension, wariness.

Gilbert grit his teeth.

“Just for a moment.”

He hung his head. His fingers tightened.

“Give me fifteen seconds. Then you can let go and go… disinfect your hand or whatever.”

Gilbert kept his eyes averted so he could only imagine what sort of expression Ludwig was making. Tormented, for sure. Which would be nice to see. He was half tempted to look up, but then Ludwig would see the slight redness to his eyes. How they couldn’t focus on anything. How splotchy his cheeks were. 

Not that his stringy fringe was hiding much of that, anyway.

And then there was a light pressure against the back of his hand. Brushing over the stark tendons and veins that jutted up like an uneven mountain range under his skin. Gilbert held perfectly still, afraid to move, the slightest breath could dislodge, change minds, resolves. He could feel the divots and ridges of Ludwig’s thumbprint as it brushed against the back of his hand. Stuttering. Warm.

Gilbert squeezed his eyes shut and steeled his features. He wasn’t about to have a full breakdown in the middle of a pizza dive. Not in front of Ludwig. But still he had to ask. Even if it meant his voice cracking.

“Why are you being so nice to me.”

Ludwig’s thumb stilled for a moment before it resumed tracing its invisible path against Gilbert’s skin.

“I wasn’t aware I was being nice.”

“You’re letting me act like a complete child in a public establishment. That used to be like. Number two on your ‘Never Acceptables’ list.”

“You’re not acting like a child.”

“I’m insisting you hold my hand in a pizza parlor for no goddamn reason.”

“There’s a reason.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes I do.”

“Bullshit. I’m just being impossible and annoying.”

“All right now you’re acting like a child.”

Ludwig’s hand tightened around Gilbert’s slightly. Maybe to take the sting out of his words.

Gilbert stared up at Ludwig through his hair and then slowly tried to pull his hand away.

Ludwig’s fingers tightened again for a moment and he made a little noise.

Gilbert stilled.

“…What was that.”

“It hasn’t been fifteen seconds yet.”

“Ludwig it’s been almost a full minute.”

Ludwig was quiet for a moment before he said a soft, “Oh.”

His fingers uncurled. Ludwig’s nails were still clean and neat, Gilbert noted absently as he pulled his hand away. Cuticles perfect save for a small little cut on his ring finger. When they’d been going out he’d teased Ludwig about getting manicures. Turned out Ludwig maintained them himself. Had a little kit and everything.

Gilbert took a moment to make sure his face wasn’t red before he sat up straight.

“Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine.”

Ludwig’s voice was soft.

“It won’t happen again.”

“Gilbert, it’s really fine.”

Gilbert’s eye twitched.

“Maybe I don’t want it to be fine.” He glanced at Ludwig, feeling prickly now that vulnerability time was apparently over. “Maybe you shouldn’t want it to be fine either. Can’t imagine Dicky boy would be too happy seeing you slumming it up in this dive holding some depressed lunatic’s hand.”

Ludwig’s eyebrows scrunched together as he frowned.

“You shouldn’t use that word.”

“What, depressed?”

“No—god, you’re impossible…”

There was so much fondness in the insult. Gilbert stared at the red entry mat. Stained and covered in dark spots where people had dropped gum decades ago. He made a face.

“Fuck this place is gross.”

“With how often you got food poisoning here, I half suspect they toss bits of this carpet into the sauce.”

Gilbert quickly clamped a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing, tears springing to his eyes again. Fuck he couldn’t take much more of this… the constant up and down was going to give him an aneurysm. 

He quickly pulled himself together and turned to face the television again, his back to Ludwig. He heard the other man shift on the bench behind him.

“Ah… sorry if… that joke was a bit crass—”

“It wasn’t,” Gilbert said, still staring at the television. “More to the point it’s probably true.”

“Oh.”

More shifting.

“You turned around, so…”

“Yeah there’s really only so much falling apart in front of you I can handle right now, so.” Gilbert gestured to the screen. “Hockey and quiet until pizza.”

“Oh. All right.”

Ludwig fell thankfully silent after that, although Gilbert could still feel the other man’s gaze on him every so often. It made it impossible to relax or focus on the game. Not that he was especially invested, but.

“Uh, large mushroom and sausage to go?”

The harried host had returned.

Gilbert remained seated as Ludwig sprang up from the bench like a fucking jack-in-the-box to pay. Gilbert waited until the transaction and pleasantries were complete before he stood up as well and made his way to the door to hold it open for Ludwig. Ludwig made a soft noise of surprise and said an unsure “Thank you?”

“I don’t want to risk you dropping anything. I’m so hungry I’d probably resort to cannibalism.” Gilbert raised an eyebrow. “Is my acting like a civilized member of society that surprising to you?”

“Wh—no, it’s… you seemed a bit out of it earlier, and—that’s all,” Ludwig mumbled. He cleared his throat and said quickly, “I don’t know the way to your house, so.”

“Oh that’s bullshit. You know the address,” Gilbert said as he started to walk home. “You sent my phone there.”

“I know the address but I sent the phone via courier service. I’ve no idea what it actually looks like or where… it’s not a neighborhood I’m familiar with.”

“Of course it isn’t.”

Ludwig fell quiet for a moment before he said softly, “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I’m sure you didn’t, but thirty some years of yachts and ski chalets make it hard to filter out some of your douchier comments,” Gilbert said dryly. He shut up after that, nausea and anxiety making it difficult to hold a conversation. They were only a few blocks from his house. The apartment buildings were growing ratty and dingy. Bushes out front looked in need of some serious maintenance. Half of the trees lining the sidewalk were stumps or were papered with the bright pink notices that meant the city was planning to reduce them to stumps in the next few weeks. It wasn’t the worst neighborhood Gilbert had ever lived in. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t humiliating. Really drove home the whole “I have no friends or family in my life who would have stopped me from signing a lease in this neighborhood.”

Gilbert turned down his street which thankfully was a shade nicer than the rest of the area if only by virtue of there being more living trees and more fences that hid under-watered lawns from view. The street was a cul-de-sac, and his and Eliza’s house was towards the end, right before the curve in the road started. The white paint was flaking a bit, but at least the yard wasn’t a terrible mess. And the windows were still relatively clean.

But fuck had it always been that small…

Gilbert fished his keys out of his pocket as he walked, not really sure how to take Ludwig’s silence. He was probably too scared to say anything for fear that it would just dig deeper the spoiled rich-kid hole he’d dug himself.

Which of course made Gilbert want to offer him a shovel, for distraction if nothing else.

“So how’s your family?” he asked. “Have they met Rich yet?”

Ludwig didn’t answer right away. Gilbert was about to turn around and repeat the question, not sure if Ludwig had heard, when finally he spoke up.

“They haven’t, no.”

Something in Ludwig’s tone of voice gave Gilbert pause. He stopped halfway up the stoop and turned to stare curiously at Ludwig.

“And how is your family doing?” he asked again.

Ludwig met Gilbert’s eyes for a moment and then looked away.

“…The pizza’s getting cold.”

Gilbert pressed his lips together, trying to quell his irritation but finally he shrugged and turned around.

“Fine.”

It took him a moment to fiddle with the door. He held on to his aggravation—at both the door for sticking and Ludwig for dodging. Easier than being terrified about what Ludwig would think of his home.

He finally kicked the door open and stepped inside.

“Come in. Just leave your shoes there.”

He kicked his own off and then took a moment to straighten them before heading into the living room. Some habits died hard.

Gilbert tugged off the nice button down he’d worn for his failure of a date and tossed it on the sofa. Ludwig was still trying to kick off his shoes without making a mess and while balancing the pizza. Gilbert took pity on him and grabbed the box.

“Kitchen’s through the living room. And don’t—I know it’s a disaster. Eliza hasn’t been home much lately and I’ve been working so.”

Gilbert left it at that. He brought the pizza into the kitchen and set it on the counter next to the full sink of dirty dishes. He scrounged around for some clean plates and managed to find two that were acceptable. He flicked a bit of caked-on something off of one and then opened the pizza box to grab himself a slice. He heard Ludwig enter the kitchen. Heard too the little hiss of surprise.

“Gilbert—”

“I told you.” Gilbert licked grease off his finger. “It’s a disaster.”

He watched Ludwig out of the corner of his eye. The man was obviously trying not to touch anything. Possibly for fear of things toppling over. Like the overflowing garbage can or the semi-clean pots stacked on top of the fridge. Or the dust caked onto everything in the kitchen higher than arm’s reach. Spaghetti sauce crusted on one of the back burners that Gilbert kept meaning to clean up and never had the energy to. Probably didn’t help that the curtains were drawn over the only tiny window in the entire kitchen. Made it look even more like some recluse’s hideaway. And the smell of cat piss from the previous owners added a nice bouquet. He and Eliza had tried to do something about that. She’d been buying air fresheners every week but now that she was more or less living at Bel’s, that had kind of fallen by the wayside too.

“Gilbert, I know you can’t like living like this,” Ludwig said after a few moments of stunned silence. “I know you, this isn’t—”

“You knew me,” Gilbert corrected. “You’re really having tense issues tonight, huh.” He fished a soda out of the fridge, leaving one on the counter for Ludwig if he wanted it and then headed into the living room. Ludwig could come if he wanted.

Gilbert pushed a few out-of-date fashion magazines off the sofa for Ludwig and then sat in his chair. There were half a dozen coffee cups on the table next to him, ranging from mostly empty to a solid half cup of black sludge. Gilbert nibbled his pizza and eyed the cups. He should probably clean the coffee maker.

He could hear Ludwig in the kitchen behind him. The man’s careful movements were irritating him more than he thought imaginable. Probably compensating for the wave of shame that he predicted was going to wash him away into a state of catatonia at any moment. 

Gilbert paused, pizza halfway to his mouth. 

He couldn’t hear Ludwig anymore.

He set the pizza down and pushed himself up in his chair to look behind him. Kitchen was deserted.

Slowly Gilbert stood up. Had Ludwig left? He thought Scenario One would win for sure, but not this quickly. Maybe a few stammered apologies and awkward promises to text or something before Ludwig high-tailed it but—

There came a rustling noise from the hallway. The sound of the linen closet door shutting. It always squeaked terribly.

A moment later Ludwig reappeared in the kitchen, through the doorway that went through the strange sitting room that connected the kitchen to the main front hall. In his hand he had a white plastic garbage bag. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbows. His nice watch had been stashed somewhere.

Gilbert watched him silently as Ludwig began tossing things into the bag. Old sponges. Paper towels. Take out wrappers. All the things Gilbert had been keeping organized into neat piles on the counter, best of intentions to deal with later.

Ludwig opened up the doors beneath the sink and looked around for a moment before he glanced over his shoulder into the living room.

“Where do you keep your cleaners.”

Gilbert stared at the trash bag in Ludwig’s hand.

“How’d you know where I store those?”

“You always keep them in the linen closet. You buy these stupid scented ones because for some fucked up reason you like the overpowering smell of Fabreeze on your bath towels. Where’s the cleaner.”

Gilbert bristled at Ludwig’s tone. Sharp and accusatory.

“I have bleach in the laundry room and that’s it,” he said. “I didn’t ask you to come over here and play maid, Ludwig. Just eat the fucking pizza.”

“No, Gilbert, you did ask me to ‘play maid’ as you so condescendingly put it by inviting me over here,” Ludwig snapped. He threw down the garbage bag and gestured to the kitchen. “This? This is asking for help! You knew I wouldn’t be able to let this go. You knew I’d have to fix this before I could do anything. You knew that forcing me to see this would make me irrationally furious with myself that I reduced you to this. And then furious with you that you let yourself live like this because you’re an adult and I’m not responsible for you. And you know what, fuck it, throw Eliza in there too, I’m furious with her as well. You knew that this would hurt me just like it’s been hurting you for god-knows how long you’ve lived here. When did this happen?! How long have you been living like this?!”

“You’re making it sound like I live in a radioactive dump. It’s not that bad. I cleaned a few months ago,” Gilbert muttered, looking away. He could feel the blood draining from his face. Shame burning in his stomach. This wasn’t Scenario One or Two. Which in retrospect he should have seen coming. Ludwig always was volatile when it came to taking care of him when he was being particularly stupid…

“No, Gilbert, by radioactive dump standards, it’s not that bad,” Ludwig said, his voice still shaking. “But why the hell is that your new standard? You used to care—I have to believe that a part of you still cares. That you’re not just some hollow zombie.”

Gilbert turned around and sat back down in his chair. He drew his knees up to his chest and rested his forehead against them.

“Do what you want,” he heard himself say. “I really don’t care.”

“Yes you do—I know you do, you can’t have changed that much—”

“Stop saying you know me!”

The yell made Ludwig finally stop talking.

Gilbert tightened his arms around his knees.

This had been a mistake.

“You don’t know me. And you don’t know what knowing you did to me. This is about as good as it gets now, Ludwig. If that standard is too low for you, fine. Keeps things simpler.”

Gilbert swallowed around the lump in his throat. Tightened his arms around his knees even more.

“If everything has to be clean and perfect then get the hell out of my house and go suck your boyfriend’s dick. I’m sure it’s pristine.”

The rustling in the kitchen stopped. Gilbert listened for the footfalls. Five of them. From the kitchen to the laundry room. Laundry room to the empty garage. Garage to laundry room, to kitchen, across the living room, front door.

He felt the house shake as the door shut. 

Gilbert counted to twenty. Listened for more footfalls, doors slamming, for Ludwig returning. 

Quiet.

Slowly he uncurled his arms. Let his head fall to the side to rest against the back of his chair. It rocked back and forth with his movement. The quiet squeaking filled the room.

Scenario one after all.

He should have known.

He stared at the streak of light on the far side of the living room wall. The street lamps outside were bright. Didn’t matter how thick the shades were. It found its way in through the cracks. 

Gilbert felt a tear roll down his cheek. He swiped at it absently and stared at the light on the wall.

He didn’t want to move. Some distant part of his personality was telling him in a rather dull, monotonous tone to at least put the pizza in the fridge. He told it later. It didn’t believe him but was hard pressed to argue its point.

Gilbert closed his eyes. Pressed his face against the grimy fabric of his chair. He’d been meaning to get it steam cleaned for forever. Maybe he would that weekend.

He heard the part of his personality give a snort of disbelief and he silently agreed. It was pretty funny.

His arm was starting to fall asleep.

How long had he been—

The house shook again.

Gilbert bolted upright, thinking for a moment that they were having an earthquake and realizing he had no fucking clue what to do in an earthquake

The living room light clicked on. Gilbert hissed in surprise and covered his eyes.

Footsteps. The smell of burning leaves from one of the neighbors’ late-night firepits. 

Something landed in his lap. Gilbert glanced down to see a roll of paper towels and a pair of yellow rubber gloves. The tag was still on them.

“We’re going to start with your room, then the living room, then the bathroom. You can take a bath and eat dinner after that. I’ll handle the kitchen. My area of expertise, if you’ll recall.”

Gilbert fiddled with the yellow gloves and then looked up at Ludwig. The man was standing in the doorway to the living room. Sleeves still rolled up. Face set in a stubborn grimace. Ludwig caught Gilbert looking at him and gestured with the plastic bucket in his hand.

“Come on. Get up.”

Gilbert found himself standing and grabbing the towels and gloves.

“…You left?” he said, not sure if it was a question or not.

“I went to the corner store.” Ludwig gestured to the bags at his feet. Bottles of cleaning solution and new sponges. “Not the most varied selection but it’ll do.”

“You left,” Gilbert repeated. “Without saying anything.”

Ludwig pressed his lips into a thin line. His cheeks were red.

“I was a little… I was angry. And I didn’t—I really didn’t want to say something that would lead to another fight. I figured this was easier. Not my most mature moment but I think we can both agree it was hardly my least mature.”

He bent down to grab the bags and headed down the hallway.

“Come on. It’s already nine. We can probably finish in a couple hours.”

Gilbert slowly followed after Ludwig, still not sure he was entirely awake.

“…What’s this ‘we’ you keep using?”

Ludwig stopped in front of Gilbert’s bedroom door and turned to study him for a moment before he looked away again.

“I—I reasoned that it… it would probably mean more. If I was helping you instead of… You can go back to sleep if you want, but—”

Ludwig’s hand was reaching for the doorknob. Another bolt of panic took over Gilbert’s nerves and he quickly moved forward.

“W-Wait—it’s not… it’s even worse in there. Just to warn you.”

Ludwig stopped.

“Do you not want me to go in?”

Gilbert’s brain scrambled to reconstruct what his room looked like. If there was anything truly, horribly embarrassing. Stuffed rabbit, but Ludwig already knew about that. Piles of unwashed scrubs. The journal his therapist had made him start writing. His half-constructed anxiety box or whatever, but there was no way Ludwig would recognize what that was…

Nothing worse than what Ludwig had already seen.

It would be like ripping off a Band-Aid. Where the sticky part was still embedded in the wound, which was always fun. But it was clear that Ludwig wasn’t going to leave unless Gilbert kicked him out. If he hadn’t run yet.

God he didn’t want him to run.

Gilbert steeled himself and pushed past Ludwig without a word. He opened the door and stepped to the side to let Ludwig get a look at the place. It was dusty. That he knew. Bed linens hadn’t been washed in a while. He mostly slept on top of the covers anyway. Curtains were never drawn open—

“Start there. Make a pile of laundry in the hall.”

Ludwig was pointing to the scrubs in the corner. Gilbert wordlessly began picking them up and bringing them out into the hallway.

“I’m pretty sure we’re out of detergent.”

“I picked some up.”

Gilbert’s insides withered with shame.

“I—let me know how much I owe you—”

Ludwig stepped down off of the chair he’d dragged by the window to take the curtains down. He tossed them in the laundry pile and then fixed Gilbert with a stern look.

“Pay me back by taking better care of yourself. Calling me or—or someone to come help you if you can’t do it on your own.”

Gilbert bit his tongue and resumed gathering dirty laundry, feeling about an inch tall.

“I don’t need your help,” he muttered, throwing the clothes in the hallway. “And ‘taking care of myself’ to your ridiculous standards is going to cost me a hell of a lot more than just paying you back for laundry detergent.”

“Fine. Receipt’s in the bag. Let’s hurry up and get this over with if you’re that eager to resume your hibernation,” Ludwig said sharply. He grabbed one of the dust cloths and began working on removing the layers of dust from the neglected bookshelf. Gilbert watched him work for a moment, fury and shame vying for attention.

And the worst part of it all was that Ludwig was right. He hated… loathed. Living like this.

Gilbert cursed softly and grabbed a dust cloth himself, working on the opposite part of the room so he wouldn’t have to talk to Ludwig.

It took nearly an hour to get his room into shape. They wordlessly moved to clean the bathroom, and then the living room. Ludwig managed to extract the vacuum from the hallway closet and vacuumed everything that had some measure of surface area. Furniture cushions included. Gilbert stuck to working on the windows and built-ins, his back to the rest of the room. Somewhere along the way he’d ditched the uncomfortable yellow gloves. He was cleaning on auto-pilot. Months of living with Ludwig and his particular fastidiousness taking over after what felt like eons of dormancy. He was so zoned out he didn’t hear the vacuum turning off or Ludwig approaching. The tap of his shoulder made him yelp and drop his cloth. He turned to stare up at Ludwig, his heart still racing.

“What?!”

Ludwig held up his hands in surrender again. A familiar gesture by now.

“I said I think we’re done in here. If you want to take a bath and relax while I do the kitchen.”

Gilbert scowled and crossed his arms over his chest.

“I can help in the kitchen.”

“You could, but I know—…I, ah… remember, maybe. That you might not like it,” Ludwig said. His lips quirked up in a cautious, empty smile. “You haven’t used your bathtub in a while, right? Go get the cleaning chemicals off you. This won’t take me long.”

Gilbert pursed his lips, wanting to argue with Ludwig but exhaustion was making it difficult to do anything other than blindly follow. He finally nodded and set down the furniture polish. It was only then that he caught sight of the clock. It was almost midnight.

He turned around, ready to tell Ludwig that he should just go home. Ludwig met his eyes for a moment, his gaze flicking to the side to glance at the clock before catching his own again.

His lips quirked up into another smile.

“It’s fine. Go relax.”

Gilbert opened his mouth to protest but before he could say anything Ludwig threw a cleaning cloth at him.

“For fuck’s sake just go. I’ve spent worse Friday nights than helping an ex clean his house. You can feel guilty later.”

Gilbert pushed the cloth off his shoulder and scowled at Ludwig.

“You can’t tell me when to feel guilty,” he muttered.

Ludwig rolled his eyes slightly and grabbed another cloth.

“Apologies. Unless you feel like helping clean the hood vent, I’d go.”

Gilbert went. But not without flipping Ludwig off behind his back. Which felt childish and stupid but he was too tired to feel the proper amount of shame. 

He stopped in his room on the way to the bath to grab the new shampoo Eliza had forced him to buy. May as well use it. He spent a few seconds trying to remember where they’d moved his “miscellaneous” drawer. Finally he located the shampoo (resting neatly next to a thing of aftershave he’d gotten a few Christmases ago and never had occasion to use).

But then he stopped.

His journal was still resting on the side table. Ludwig hadn’t gone near it the entire time they’d been cleaning. Hadn’t so much as spared it a glance. 

Gilbert walked over to it and picked it up. He flipped it open.

The first few pages were barely legible. Screams in the form of blistering ink. A few lines he could decipher or remember the intent behind their penning, but most of it was nonsense. Raving and sad.

The next chunk of pages were minimalism. A few notes his therapist had told him to take. Eating schedule. Sleep schedule. Dutifully filled out for a few days and then abandoned.

Then the dream pages. Less comprehensible still but filled with line after line of meticulous penmanship. Ludwig’s name speckled here and there. The first line of the “L” unsteady every time.

Gilbert heard a loud crash from the kitchen, and then a moment later Ludwig’s voice.

“Hood vent screws are rusted through! Don’t worry about it!”

Gilbert closed his journal and stepped out into the hallway.

“Don’t break my kitchen, Schmidt!”

“Why aren’t you in the bath yet, Doctor?”

Gilbert flipped Ludwig off and made a loud show of opening the bathroom door and turning on the faucet. He remembered spying under the sink some of Eliza’s expensive bath… salts? Is that what they were? They smelled good. He dumped in a handful. They made the water a bright, tropical blue. And smell like coconuts.

Gilbert shucked off his bleach-stained clothes and slid into the bath. The door was still open and he let it stay that way. He could still hear Ludwig cleaning over the sound of the running water. It was comforting even as it was invasive and nerve-wracking. The sort of bittersweet that clung to nostalgia born from memories still young. 

Gilbert shut off the water and let himself sink deep. He liked baths for the first five minutes. Before the water got lukewarm. When the smell of coconuts was still cloying and the water lapped gently against the sides of the tub with every little movement.

Gilbert rested his head against the back of the tub and closed his eyes. Water swept into every pore. Made his toes and fingertips sting from the warmth. He’d forgotten to turn on the big light over head, and the faint light seeping in from the hallway made the room a grotto of eerie shadows and soft, blue waves.

He could still hear Ludwig humming to himself in the other room. The tune lingered somewhere between pop song and operetta. Bizarre and soft.

Gilbert sank deeper into the bath, his skin tingling from the heat and the salts. 

Bruised-ink-journal him would be horrified and furious at what he was doing.

Gilbert frowned and sank deeper, an odd feeling of betrayal gnawing at him. Which was ridiculous. Ludwig wasn’t an enemy. He’d done and said horrible things, true, but some of the words slashed across the journal, the ones that flitted across his mind in bursts of rage weren’t rational. They weren’t rational or fair or based on anything real. And now that Ludwig was a flesh-and-blood person again instead of this abstract concept every hyperbole and insult and damnation he recalled scrawling in between the faux-leather bindings made him feel like a pathetic teenager. Too in love with their own angst.

Gilbert pressed his hands against his eyes and shooed those thoughts away.

He’d hated himself as a teenager. Insecure little fucker. He hadn’t been expecting to regress so badly but in retrospect that’s exactly what he had done…

Slowly Gilbert lowered his arms and tried to relax again. He counted the steady drips of the faucet. The hum of the vacuum. Distant rumble of semi trucks down the highway a few blocks away.

“Gilbert?”

Gilbert hummed in response. Ludwig’s voice was hesitant. It crept slowly into the room. An animal adjusting to new surroundings.

“Did you fall asleep?”

“Mm… maybe?”

Gilbert held up a hand and gestured for Ludwig to come in.

Shuffling around the door.

“Gilbert…”

“Water’s opaque… put in a bunch of like. Salt… things. Crystals,” Gilbert murmured. He cracked open an eye. Ludwig’s shadow was hovering in the doorway. Hand on the door.

Gilbert closed his eyes again. Took a deep breath and dunked his head under the water. 

He could still hear Ludwig. His voice was muffled and irritated.

“Gilbert.”

Gilbert didn’t move.

“Gilbert, I know what you’re doing.”

“Come on. Knock it off.”

“Gilbert I swear to god—”

Footsteps made the bathwater tremble. Gilbert was vividly reminded of Jurassic Park.

A strong hand closed around his bicep and yanked him out of the water. He surfaced, spluttering from the abruptness of the movement. He blinked his eyes to clear them and stared blearily at Ludwig. He couldn’t make out his expression. Darkness and lack of glasses were a rather incapacitation combo.

Ludwig let go of his arm as soon as he was sitting up. He took a step back, resting against the vanity. Even through the darkness Gilbert could see him shaking out his hand like he’d been burned.

Gilbert propped his chin up on the side of the tub and stared at Ludwig.

“Electric eel?” he guessed.

Ludwig gave him a look.

“What.”

“Speculating as to what sort of reaction you were practicing there. Toss up between ‘fetching a flaming marshmallow out of a campfire’ and ‘accidentally arm-wrestling an electric eel.’ Either way bravo on the theatrics.”

“I was trying to get you to quit acting like an idiot. That’s all.”

“And now you can’t look at me.”

Ludwig’s profile flinched.

“You’re naked. This isn’t exactly a normal scenario.” Ludwig turned to face him slightly. “Even for a ‘hookup.’”

“Ugh. Gross,” Gilbert muttered, splashing some water in irritation. “Don’t call it that. It sounds weird.”

“You dragged me in here with your antics. You’re the one making it weird, not my poor word choice.”

“You’ve seen me naked a billion times. What’s it matter.”

“But I haven’t—fine.”

Ludwig dragged a hand down his face. Gilbert took that as a silent sign of defeat and awarded himself a point.

But then Ludwig moved. Sat down on the bath mat next to the tub, his back against the wall so he faced the door. His head was tilted back and his eyes were closed. 

Gilbert shifted in the water. Moved closer to Ludwig to study him. Exposure therapy, maybe. He wasn’t sure what was compelling him anymore. A weird cocktail of aggression, depression, familiarity, longing, bitterness. Too many flavors to name.

But Ludwig was still handsome. His good looks felt almost like an insult.

Ludwig’s lips warped into a frown.

“Don’t stare at me.”

“I’m not staring,” Gilbert lied.

“You are. Knock it off. I’m playing along with whatever this is, so let me rest for a bit.”

Gilbert fell quiet, but he continued to study Ludwig’s face as best he could sans glasses plus imperfect lighting. Ludwig had dark circles under his eyes. His bangs fell across his forehead in sweaty clumps. 

Still handsome.

Gilbert crossed his arms over the edge of the tub, resting his chin atop them.

“Do you want to take a bath?”

Ludwig cracked open an eye and stared at him.

“What.”

“Not with me. Idiot.”

“Oh.”

Gilbert could see Ludwig warring with himself. Eyes moving behind paper-thin lids.

Finally he nodded and stood. A moment later a towel landed on Gilbert’s head. It smelled like Fabreeze.

“I’ll be quick. You can inspect the kitchen. Let me know if I missed anything.”

“If I do I’ll keep that info to myself for fear of you breaking a hip when you vault out of the bathtub.”

Gilbert stood up and was rewarded with a hilarious squawking noise from Ludwig.

“Gilbert!”

“For fuck’s sake, Richard’s turned you into such a prude.”

Gilbert stepped out of the tub and quickly dried himself off before wrapping the towel around his waist. He grabbed his glasses and shoved them on his face. They were foggy. Ludwig had retreated to the hallway and was standing next to the door with his hand over his face. Gilbert tapped him on the shoulder as he passed.

“You’re up.”

Ludwig’s face was bright red when he lowered his hand. He opened his mouth to speak, but then he seemed to catch himself. His eyes quickly raked over Gilbert before he looked away. The red left his cheeks.

“A-Ah. Thank you.”

Ludwig turned but paused in the doorway and looked Gilbert over again. Much more blatantly. 

Gilbert felt his own face grow hot. He took a little step backwards, wishing he’d thought to bring clean clothes into the bathroom with him.

“Make up your mind about whether or not you can look at me. And make it up fast.”

Ludwig didn’t respond for a moment. His blue eyes grew sad.

“…You’ve lost weight.”

Gilbert gasped dramatically and covered his chest with his hands for a moment before adopting a deadpan expression.

“Who the fuck cares.”

Ludwig’s eyes flashed with irritation but it quickly bled away.

“No one, apparently,” he muttered, turning to head into the bathroom. “Forgive me for not joining their ranks.”

He slammed the bathroom door behind him. Immediately he opened it and mumbled, “Sorry, forgot this isn’t my house to storm around in.”

He closed the door again. Slower.

The latch clicked.

Gilbert stood still for a few moments, not sure how to process Ludwig’s comment or subsequent chain of baffling reactions. He heard the squeak of the shower faucet. Splashing of water.

Gilbert reached out and grabbed the door knob. Turned it to see if it was locked.

No resistance.

He pushed open the door slightly and stuck his head in. Ludwig had remembered to turn the ventilating fan on. Of course.

The shower curtains were drawn. Only the vanity light was illuminated. It wasn’t strong enough to light up the corners of the small room.

Ludwig was humming.

Gilbert rested his head against the door jam and listened for a few seconds before voyeur-born guilt began to set in.

“Ludwig?”

The humming stopped.

“…Yes?”

Gilbert sat on the vanity. Crossed his legs at the ankles.

“Is it bad?”

Snap of a shampoo bottle opening.

“Is what bad?”

Gilbert wrapped his arms around his chest. He felt sick asking these questions. They were too personal too fast. But it was going to bother him unless he asked. He knew.

“How I look now. I mean you’re—objectively you’re right. Someone at work commented the other day too but she sounded more… I dunno. Blasé about it so I assumed it wasn’t a big deal.”

Water rushing down the drain. Splashing as Ludwig moved under the spray.

“You look different. But I imagine I do, too.”

“You don’t. Not really.”

“You’re not gaunt if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I wasn’t until you said it…”

The water shut off. Ludwig’s hand reached out from behind the curtain and grabbed the towel resting on the rack. The curtain slid open and Ludwig stepped out of the tub, towel around his waist. He stopped in front of the vanity. Gilbert looked up at him, bitter and furious that even with water dripping in his eyes and platitudes dripping from his lips he still looked resolute and immutable. 

Ludwig reached out his hand, hesitating for a long, painful moment before his fingers brushed a lock of hair off of Gilbert’s forehead. Gilbert remained perfectly still, his brain struggling to keep up with every little interaction.

“You should get dressed,” Ludwig said quietly, “You’ll catch a cold.”

Gilbert pushed Ludwig’s hand away and slid off the vanity.

“You know that’s an old wives’ tale, right. You don’t catch a cold from wet hair.”

He didn’t wait for Ludwig to respond. He headed into his room and sullenly tugged on a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt. He really was tired of his body automatically obeying Ludwig’s every little command, but here he was. After a moment’s thought he grabbed another pair of sweatpants and a shirt and tossed them through the bathroom door at Ludwig, who was starting to put his nice clothes back on.

“Here. Borrow these.”

“Gilbert—”

“Just do it. I know it gives you hives to wear clothes that have already been worn. These are clean.”

Ludwig fiddled with the sweatpants before turning around to put them on. Gilbert remained in the doorway, half suspecting that if he left Ludwig would tug his cleaner-soaked shirt and pants back on and lie and say the sweatpants didn’t fit instead of only being a few inches too short.

Ludwig folded his own clothes and moved to place them by his shoes near the door. Gilbert followed after him automatically. Ludwig’s feet left heat footprints on the cold wooden floors. His stride was still so long.

“Now what,” Gilbert asked. “Last train’s definitely left. You gonna call a taxi?”

Ludwig rubbed the back of his neck and glanced towards the kitchen.

“We, ah… we still haven’t eaten,” he said quietly. “If you want. Antonio’s always tastes better cold, anyway. Or at… at room temperature…”

Gilbert didn’t feel like eating. But the hopeful tone in Ludwig’s voice, his surprise that Ludwig wasn’t jonsing to get the hell out of Dodge as soon as possible, the concern in Ludwig’s words when he’d mentioned his weight. Some terrible combination of all of those made him nod and wordlessly follow Ludwig into the kitchen. Which really was spotless. Dishes drying in the rack, counters scrubbed.

“…Did you clean the top of the trash can?”

Ludwig faltered slightly as he took a few slices of pizza and put them on his plate.

“…It was dusty.”

“For fuck’s sake.”

Gilbert just grabbed the entire pizza box and followed Ludwig into the living room. Ludwig sat down near the middle of the sofa. An unusual move for him. He normally liked having the arm rest, same as Gilbert. 

Gilbert’s steps led him automatically to his chair. But the open spot on the sofa, just enough room for him to sit without touching Ludwig. It was too obvious and too shy and sad a gift to ignore.

He set the pizza box down on the coffee table and then very carefully sat down in the little space left for him. Ludwig tensed, evidence by the squeaking of the sofa’s ancient springs. 

Gilbert froze, feeling caged and unwelcome.

He risked a glance at Ludwig.

“Did you not want me here?”

Ludwig remained still for a long while before he moved his plate closer to Gilbert and gestured for him to take a piece of pizza.

Gilbert tugged his knees up to his chest, moving as close to the arm rest as possible before taking the offered food. He nibbled at the slice of pizza, not tasting it at all. Too hyper aware of how no matter how much he moved towards the armrest, when he and Ludwig breathed in sync their shoulders would touch.

But Ludwig wasn’t moving. And it was so quiet at one thirty in the morning. Every time their shoulders touched, the scratching of fabric, the soft inhales, the momentary stillness of lungs and arteries was deafening.

Gilbert suddenly grabbed the remote, needing to drown out the silence. He turned the television on, played whatever was first in his Netflix queue. Teen flick from the 90s. Peppy music loud enough to drown out anything else.

Gilbert sat back again, his toes curling around the edges of the couch cushion. He could feel the question evolving on Ludwig’s lips.

“I don’t deal well with silence,” Gilbert said. “I can turn it to something else if—”

“It’s your house, Gilbert. You should be comfortable. And this is apparently some sort of ‘classic’ according to Netflix so in the name of culture I won’t protest.”

The couch creaked as Ludwig settled back. He crossed his legs, his knee resting slightly against Gilbert’s leg for a moment before Ludwig inhaled sharply and moved. 

“Sorry—I forgot, I—… sorry.”

Gilbert tugged his knees closer and stared at the television as he forced down his pizza.

“It’s fine.” He licked grease off his fingers. “It’s my house. You should be comfortable.”

Seconds dragged by painfully slowly. 

The couch creaked with unsure movements, nervous shifting. Swallowing, fiddling, phone set on the coffee table next to the pizza box and long legs crossed again. A gentle pressure against Gilbert’s thigh. 

Gilbert forced himself to breathe, the slight bit of contact confusing, nauseating and comforting and so very badly wanted.

On the coffee table, Ludwig’s phone lit up and buzzed. Before Ludwig reached out to silence it, Gilbert caught a glimpse of the screen.

A string of text messages. All from Richard and all unanswered.

The phone went dark.

Gilbert risked a glance at Ludwig’s face. His expression was hard, save for the corners of his mouth. They trembled slightly.

“…Ludwig.”

Ludwig set his phone back down.

“Tomorrow,” he said quietly. “Maybe then they won’t be so easy to ignore.”

His knee rested against Gilbert’s thigh again. Purposeful and easy.

Gilbert felt his stomach clench. Pride and warmth and the half-hearted voice that let him know that nothing with Ludwig should ever be this comfortable. Not with what they had been. What they were.

Gilbert closed his eyes and listened to the television. His shoulder pressed against Ludwig’s. He let it stay there.

It was so warm.


End file.
